


Eden

by oliverdalstonbrowning



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort Reading, Eden Rewrite, Florist Thranduil, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, No Homophobia, No Transphobia, Slice of Life, Tattoo Artist Bard, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Trans Character, Trans Thranduil, single dads, tattoo artist/florist au, this fic is a SAFE PLACE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning
Summary: Bard is the new guy in town and everyone is talking about him, but he's too busy talking to Thranduil to care.
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil
Comments: 62
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rewrite of a fic I wrote in 2016, which I thought deserved to be better written. Eden was always very close to my heart, and I wanted to do it justice again since I found myself with a lot of time on my hands. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.  
> 

Thranduil hated weddings.

What exactly irritated him about them wasn’t always clear, but he was sure of the fact all the same.

Perhaps it was how absurdly lavish they were, and crowded, and always in the summer time, when the air was hot and dry and the gentler flowers barely survived the ceremony before they started wilting.

Or perhaps it was because people at weddings were happy, and Thranduil didn’t feel like he belonged there. His skin crawled at being noticed, but also at being ignored.

 _Never mind_ , he thought, watching idly from an otherwise vacant table as guests danced to nostalgic tunes of the 80s. As far as weddings went, this one wasn’t the worst he’d ever attended, and it was the last one he had booked for the year. There was an open bar, and everyone had to be gone by midnight, which promised an early end by wedding reception standards.

Thranduil swirled his wine lazily, not really drinking it. The open bar unfortunately didn’t speak for the quality of the alcohol.

He averted his gaze to the children’s table where Legolas was drawing with a girl about his age. He smiled, glad to see his son interacting well with her, for he was prone to shyness and anxiety around other people, whether they were adults or peers. Thranduil vaguely acknowledged that he had never seen the little girl before, and wondered who her parents were.

“Hi.”

Thranduil started at being addressed, having not seen anyone approach him. He steadied his wine glass after nearly knocking it over and looked around to see who had spoken. A man was sitting at the adjacent table to his left, taking off his shoes and loosening his tie with a poignant sigh. He was slightly better dressed than most of the other guests, and Thranduil took note of the rosebuds and gum leaves pinned to his navy suit. Thranduil had made for the groom’s best man.

“Is that one yours?” the man asked, gesturing towards the children’s table where Legolas was now talking animatedly to the girl about his drawing.

It took Thranduil a moment to cotton on to what he was talking about.

“Oh... yes. How can you tell?”

The man appeared amused by this. “I mean, he looks just like you.”

Feeling stupid, Thranduil managed a small exhale by way of a laugh. “Right. Sorry, it’s been a long night.”

“You’re telling me.” The man kicked his shoes under the table pointedly. “I’m Bard.”

Thranduil offered him an awkward wave. “Thranduil.”

“Cool name.”

Thranduil had to fight the urge to reply with _“Thanks, I chose it myself,”_ and simply offered Bard a nod.

“I hope this doesn’t sound too forward, but you don’t happen to live nearby do you? I just moved here and Tilda doesn’t know any of the kids at the day-care, but she seems quite taken with your son.”

Thranduil glanced back at the girl sitting with Legolas. She had her father’s curly hair, but much curlier, bouncing in tight ringlets around her ears.

“Are you asking me on a play-date?”

Bard laughed, and his smile was wide and warm. It made Thranduil smile as well.

“I guess I am. Is that alright?”

Thranduil shrugged lightly. “Sure. I don’t live far from here.”

Bard’s eyes lit up. “Really? Awesome. Wha– ”

Whatever he was going to say next, Thranduil never found out. Bard was cut short by a figure in white stumbling between their tables and promptly falling into his lap, her enormous dress almost overwhelming him.

“Bard,” she said, a little louder than was necessary, her eyes sparkling with the effects of alcohol. Thranduil didn’t think she was drunk, but Gilraen was certainly enjoying her wedding day. “Bard, you’re needed.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bard buffeted at the dress for a moment, pushing it away from his face. “What’s the lucky man done this time?”

“He’s – fuck, my shoe – he’s stuck.” Gilraen moved to retrieve her shoe, but Bard was quick to swipe it from the floor and hand it to her before she did herself an injury.

“Stuck where?” he asked.

Gilraen took a deep breath and clutched her shoe, composing herself quickly. “He’s stuck on the toilet.”

Bard sighed heavily. Without a word, the two got up and left Thranduil at the table by himself again.

Figuring he would speak to Bard later, he went to check on Legolas.

As the evening wore on, Haldir stopped by on his way home from a date to collect Legolas. Which was just as well, for it ended up being past midnight when the guests finally bade their farewells to the bride and groom and departed inebriated and noisily from the chapel hall. They spilled out onto the dark street, filing into cars and taxis. Tired and irritated, Thranduil moved about the hall as they left, collecting the table arrangements and taking them to his car. He also pilfered any remaining party favours that guests hadn’t taken, stuffing them into his coat pockets.

There was no sign of Bard to make further arrangements about their kids, so Thranduil slipped from the chapel unnoticed, just how he liked it.

It was well into the early hours of the morning when he pulled into the driveway beside his flower shop. He and Haldir shared the flat above, and Thranduil was glad to see the kitchen light still on through the windows as he headed up the stairs.

Dumping his keys in a bowl at the door, he found his flat mate on the sofa, watching an old horror movie on the television. He shut the door and flopped down beside him, finally feeling just how tired he was.

“That bad, huh?” he said, gesturing to the film on the televsion, because Haldir only watched grainy, overdone B-horror when he was trying to numb his heartbreak over yet another failed date.

Haldir let his head rest on Thranduil’s shoulder. “You know how I lied last week when I said I’d never go on another date again?”

“Yeah?”

“I really mean it this time.”

Thranduil dug into his pocket and offered Haldir a chocolate heart.

The apparently disastrous date was relayed to Thranduil in the morning over a late breakfast. Haldir bustled about the kitchen, making angry pancakes in his pajamas, telling Thranduil that _"_ _there's really no excuse to be rude to a waiter in this day and age_ _,"_ and " _is it so hard to hold a conversation for more than forty seconds? Do I have to provide talking points for the next one just in case? I really don't think it was vital for me to learn the entirety of his gym schedule before I know his favourite food?"_

Thranduil nodded patiently at Haldir’s ranting, providing vocal input whenever he stopped for breath. He admired Haldir’s determination to keep meeting new people, but surely there was a limit to how many dissatisfactory dates a person could endure. Thranduil wasn’t exactly experienced in the world of online dating – or dating in general, really – but he thought it must be tiring to have the same introductory conversations over and over again.

When the pancakes were on the table, Haldir finally gave a great, overdramatic sigh and put the spatula down.

“How was your night? Surely better than mine,” he said, wiping his hands on a tea towel.

Thranduil took a pancake and drizzled it with syrup for Legolas, who was watching cartoons on the floor.

“I got asked on a play-date, but I never got his number,” he quipped with a shrug, pressing the plate into his son’s hands. “So, easy come, easy go.”

“Was he cute?”

Thranduil bobbed his head in a ‘so-so’ kind of way as he returned to the kitchen table. “I didn’t really get a good look at him.”

“What about a name?”

“Bard.”

Haldir made a face over his coffee. “Bard? He sounds boring.”

“He had tattoos.”

“Please continue.”

Thranduil chuckled. “He was the best man and he lives in town. I think. I didn’t really press for details.”

“You never do,” Haldir admonished kindly. “Oh well. Did you bring the arrangements back?”

“I wouldn’t have stayed otherwise. They’re in the car.”

“Alright, I’ll take them to the old folks’ home after lunch.”

They finished their breakfast and Thranduil went downstairs to do some work. The shop was closed on Sundays, but there was still plenty to do. Thranduil liked being busy, but he had quite forgotten what it was like to have a day off, and he was beginning to realise that was a bad thing. He watched the people outside, enjoying the remnants of summer’s warmth, walking past his darkened windows to enjoy the cafés and restaurants further down the street, or else visit the park with their children. Thranduil bowed his head over his invoices, ignoring the envy swelling in his stomach.

Legolas came down after Haldir left to deliver the old arrangements to the retirement home. Juice box in hand, he walked about the shop purposefully, inspecting the flowers in their buckets and making sure they were okay. When Thranduil was done with his invoicing, they sat on the floor together to cut the stems of some of the older flowers to preserve them enough for a quick sell the next day.

Then, there was banking to be done, and orders to fill for the morning, and then it was dinner, and Haldir read with Legolas while Thranduil made spaghetti. Then it was bath time, wine time, and bed time.

Thranduil fell back onto his pillows, closing his eyes. His head throbbed dully from the cheap wine and Haldir’s excessive tangents. He couldn’t believe another week was over.

His thoughts wandered to Bard from the wedding, trying to remember something else about him. But the hall had been dark, and Thranduil’s memory was already faded, his disinterest towards the wedding stronger than his curiosity about Bard. Brown shoes, and the tattoo on his hand was of the sun. He wore a black ring on his finger.

Thranduil fell asleep unable to recall anything else.

In the morning, still not quite able to shake his thoughts, he approached Haldir and asked him to search for Bard on Facebook.

Haldir hovered his thumbs over his phone screen smugly. “You know, this wouldn’t be a problem if you just had Facebook.”

“No thanks,” Thranduil said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I don’t think anyone who used to know you will be able to find you,” Haldir reasoned.

Thranduil opted to ignore this and pressed on. “He should be friends with Arathorn.”

Haldir tapped on his phone and took a moment to browse, sipping his coffee as he did so. After a while, he frowned.

“I don’t think he’s here. Shit, Thranduil, I think you met the one other person in the world who doesn’t have Facebook!”

“Plenty of people don’t have Facebook,” Thranduil snapped. He glanced at the clock above the fridge. “I’m going to open. Can you fix breakfast?”

He went downstairs, twirling the shop keys as he went. He was disappointed to have no other information about Bard. He was intrigued by him, and interested in the connection Legolas had made with his daughter. Legolas, too, had trouble making friends, and it had been nice to see him interacting so positively with another kid.

But Thranduil would have to put it from his mind. There was no point dwelling on what clearly wasn’t meant to be. Legolas would have to get on with the few friends he already had at the day care.

Thranduil opened up the shop on auto pilot, his mind still wandering needlessly. Setting up the displays and cleaning any leftover mess from the previous afternoon, he started the day by putting new arrangements together, feeling miserably uninspired. Soon after, Haldir left with Legolas to take him to day care and go to the movies with a friend, and at 10, Tauriel swept through, carrying an enormous box with her.

Thranduil hurried forward to help her, holding the door open with his foot. They shuffled together to the storeroom at the back of the shop and placed the box carefully on the floor, its contents clinking cheerfully.

“That’s all I could find,” Tauriel said breathlessly. “I got a couple extra in case we break any.”

“In case _you_ break any,” Thranduil corrected her, taking out one of the thrifted vases to inspect it. “How much did you spend?”

“Not much,” she said, fishing change out of her pocket. “I’ll put it through on the till.”

Thranduil took a marker and wrote on the box before tucking it under a shelf.

“How was the wedding on the weekend?” Tauriel asked as he returned to the front counter. “It looked good on Instagram.”

“It was fine. The rose arch was destroyed by the end, but I salvaged some petals to make a display with.”

“Oh, I can do that if you want. In the front window?”

Thranduil nodded and showed her where the bucket of rose petals was.

Thranduil liked Tauriel. She was chatty and her mood was almost always positive. She only worked three days a week, but she filled in the hours easily with her various stories and conversation. Thranduil liked to listen rather than talk most of the time, but they had an unspoken and effortless bond which bolstered him. She had only been working for him for two years, but he could hardly remember a time when the shop had functioned so well without her.

Thus, the day went by breezily. They filled orders and helped customers, and a cool breeze drifted in and out of the door with each person that came and went. Though Thranduil sometimes yearned for a break or a holiday, but he couldn’t deny he loved his job. Tucked away in the north, the small hamlet where he lived and worked was home; it was the town he had chosen to raise his son, and offer his new name to strangers, unafraid of their judgement. He couldn’t imagine his life being any different, or any less wonderful. He had good days and bad days, of course, but they were mostly good, and he wished he could tell his past self all about it.

It was nearing the end of the day when Tauriel went home, taking the trash with her to the dumpster outside. It had fallen quiet in the afternoon, as it often did, and Thranduil put on his favourite song to close the store, humming quietly to himself while he collected the paperwork from the till.

With so little movement around him, the chime of the doorbell was enough to make Thranduil look up, curious as to who would come by so late.

To his amazement, it was Bard.

He sauntered through the door, walking over to Thranduil at the counter.

“Hi,” he said.

He was dressed casually, which caught Thranduil off-guard, for he could now see the full extent of Bard’s tattoos. His left arm was completely covered in them, from his fingers to his shoulder, while the other was mostly bare save for a black-out piece on the forearm and a couple of small designs. The more Thranduil looked, the less of Bard he could actually see. He had tattoos even on his neck and chest, and a small one on his face, just above his left eyebrow.

“Hi,” Thranduil finally replied, fully aware that he was staring, but unable to tear his eyes away.

“I don’t know if you remember me– ”

“Bard.”

Bard flashed a handsome grin. “Gilraen said you work here. I never got your number.”

 _Of course,_ Thranduil realised. Gilraen and Arathorn worked at the tattoo shop down the road. If Bard was recently moved into town, then no doubt he had settled down with a new job as well. Being best man, he was no doubt very good friends with them.

Bard took several steps forward, taking the shop in as he went. He walked with his hands in his jean pockets, his worn-out sneakers scuffing the linoleum floor. “Sorry for leaving without it. I had – ah – best man duties to attend to.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to comment, but decided against it, allowing Bard the chance to save face in the wake of whatever bathroom mishap Arathorn had gotten himself into on his wedding night.

“I’m still down for that date if you are."

“Date?” Thranduil repeated with a blink.

“Play-date!” Bard amended quickly. “Or, we can arrange a date as well, if you want.”

Thranduil couldn’t tell if he was being serious. His own heart seemed to hope so, but he overlooked its quailing and only raised an eyebrow at Bard, who he could have sworn went a little red.

“I’m sure Legolas will be excited.”

Bard seemed to relax. He leaned against the counter casually, and Thranduil could smell his aftershave. He was good looking, but not obviously so. His nose was a little crooked, and he had a ring pierced through it on the right side. His dark eyes were mischievous and enticing, and they matched his smile perfectly.

“Have you just got the one?” he asked.

“Yes. You?”

“Three,” Bard said, indicating the number with his fingers as well. “You probably missed the other two running around on Saturday.”

“You and your… wife must have your hands full,” Thranduil said nonchalantly, busying himself with the till as he spoke.

Bard’s mouth quirked in a knowing half-smile. “Ex-wife.”

Thranduil tried to quash the hot rush of optimism rising in his chest. A cute boy flirting with him (was this flirting? Thranduil couldn't even be sure) was no reason to get excited, even if he was here to exchange numbers and organise another time for them to see each other. Just because Bard was pretty didn't mean Thranduil had to go falling in love with him after five minutes.

“How would you like to do this?” he asked, closing the till and leaning against the other side of the counter, unconsciously mimicking Bard.

Bard jumped into action, retrieving his phone from his back pocket. “Here, give me your number and I’ll text you.”

He handed over the phone and Thranduil entered his number to the keypad, saving it under his name. The name he chose.

He gave it back, and their fingers brushed ever so slightly at the exchange.

“This weekend, then?”

Bard smiled again, all teeth, and kind wrinkles beneath his eyes. “Sounds good.”

He left, his scent lingering by the counter for Thranduil to ponder over. He looked down at his hand, the tips of his fingers tingling from the brief contact. He had never given himself over to the idea of meeting someone in town. After three years, he knew everyone, and everyone knew him, and they all got on reasonably well. To have a newcomer was something of a novelty in these parts, and so Thranduil couldn’t help but a feel a little enamoured by Bard.

But, then, the rest of the town would be as well, so maybe it was just their inevitable excitement about new people finally rubbing off on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think x


	2. Chapter 2

It was appointment day when Thranduil received his first text from Bard, though he didn’t immediately recognise the mysterious number, or who it belonged to. His phone buzzed in the pocket of his jeans as he pulled them back up in the doctor’s office. He shook out his leg awkwardly as the injection travelled coldly down the length of his thigh.

“You’re all good to go,” the doctor told him.

Already distracted by his phone, Thranduil mumbled an indistinct farewell, shouldering his way out the door as he read the message that had popped up on his screen.

**[Unknown]  
** _sorry, been flat out at the shop. how does 11 o’clock on Saturday sound?_

Mindful of the fresh injection, Thranduil got into his car carefully, but still winced when he sat down.

_its bard, btw_

_Right,_ Thranduil thought absently, staring at the little conversation forming on his phone. He had been so swamped with orders at the store that week he had all but forgotten about meeting up with Bard on the weekend. He hadn’t even gotten around to telling Legolas yet.

Starting the car, he texted back his reply.

**[Thranduil]  
** _Where?_

At the same time, another text came through from Haldir. It was a coffee cup emoji, and nothing else. Thranduil sighed and drove out of the parking lot.

Not eager to sit down again once he was standing, Thranduil parked his car at home and walked down the street to the local café. He peered into the flower shop before he left and spotted Haldir inside on the phone, looking irritated at whoever was on the other end.

It was lunch time, so the café was busy with customers; mostly other shopkeepers from the street, mingling and chatting with each other on their breaks and coffee runs, and generally just procrastinating returning to their respective jobs. Thranduil squeezed through to Mithrellas at the front.

“Hey, Thranduil,” she greeted, her pen already punching his usual order into the computer screen. Thranduil flashed two fingers at her, and she added Haldir's drink as well. “I haven’t seen you around lately. Flowers keeping you busy?”

“Somewhat,” Thranduil told her, taking money out of his pocket and putting it on the counter.

“Have you had a chance to meet the new guy yet?”

Thranduil fought the urge to roll his eyes. Was there really nothing else for people in this town to talk about?

 _At least they don’t talk about me_ , he reminded himself sternly.

“News travels fast, so I daresay you already know that we’ve met,” he said coolly.

Mithrellas offered him a cheeky grin as she steamed milk at the machine. “Nimrodel did say she saw him in your shop on Monday.”

“I’m going to wait for my coffee over there, okay?”

“Okie. Talk to you later.”

Mithrellas’ eerie smile did not falter, but that was not to say it wasn’t genuine. 

Thranduil retreated to the back of the café to wait, sore and disgruntled, for his coffee. He checked his phone, but there were no other messages from Bard. He took the moment to save the number.

At the call of his name, Thranduil retrieved a tray with two take-away cups. He manoeuvred himself back through the crowd, opened the door, and walked right into someone making their way in.

“Ah!”

The cups were crushed between the two bodies and the coffee spilled everywhere, drenching Thranduil and the other person at the door.

Stepping away hastily, his arms raised away from the mess, Thranduil looked to see whose day he had ruined.

It was Bard.

_Perfect._

Bard laughed unsteadily, shaking his hands of coffee. His shirt had absorbed most of the spill, turning it from white to brown and sticking against his stomach. Thranduil didn’t have to look down at himself to know his own shirt was in a similar state.

He also didn’t have to turn around to know that everyone in the coffee shop was staring at them, a heavy silence hovering over the tables.

“Sorry,” Bard said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Thranduil could practically feel the people behind him drilling holes into his back, and he couldn’t stop himself from snapping.

“Clearly.”

Bard frowned. “I’ll buy you another– ”

Thranduil didn’t let him finish. He grabbed Bard by the arm and marched him down the street away from prying eyes, though the damage had already been done.

The cool wind pressed against his wet shirt uncomfortably. He wouldn’t be drinking coffee for a week after this.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, letting go of Bard as they slowed their walk. “I wasn’t pay attention either.”

Bard made a pained sort of noise as he unstuck the ruined t-shirt from his body.

“I can’t go back to work like this,” he grumbled.

“I’ll lend you a shirt,” Thranduil said, gesturing further down the street to his house.

“You keep spare shirts at work?” Bard inquired.

“What? No, I live upstairs.”

Bard said nothing, but made a small ‘o’ with his mouth.

They walked together to the shop. Thranduil didn’t have house keys with him, so there was no chance of sneaking through the back door and avoiding people – avoiding Haldir.

Mercifully, there were no customers in the shop. They went through the front entrance, the bell above the door catching Haldir’s attention from the counter. He looked up to see who it was and immediately opened his mouth to speak, but Thranduil glared him into silence as he passed with Bard, shepherding him into the back room and up the stairs.

Entering the flat, Thranduil was relieved to see it wasn’t as untidy as it had been the night before. For all of Haldir’s faults, at least he liked to clean.

He left Bard gazing around the small apartment at the kitchen table to grab fresh towels and clothes. It took him a while to find a t-shirt he thought would fit Bard without practically falling to his ankles. Thranduil figured they were probably about the same size, but that was only because he was tall and had to upsize most of his clothes.

“Here. This one should be alright,” he said as he emerged from his bedroom.

Bard had migrated to the large, loft-style windows at the front of the flat and was peering down into the street below. When he heard Thranduil approach, he turned around.

“You have a nice place,” he said, lifting a hand to touch the fern hanging from the ceiling by his head.

Thranduil gave his flat a fleeting sweep with his eyes as he wet the corner of a towel at the kitchen sink. “It’s fine.”

He handed Bard the shirt and damp towel and told him he could get changed in his bedroom at the end of the hall. Thranduil himself went to the bathroom to clean up as well.

He took one look in the mirror and groaned. The coffee had spilled on his shirt to the chest, but it was also all in his hair and flicked like freckles on his face. Swearing under his breath, Thranduil dampened his towel and wiped his face and ends of his hair, doing his best to get the smell out as well. But when it became evident there was little to be done about it, he gave up and tied his hair back in a knot. He switched his shirt for a fresh one and returned to the main room.

Bard was back in the kitchen already. He had folded his towel neatly and put it on the bench. The t-shirt fit him well, as Thranduil had hoped, but it was still much too long. Bard had opted for casually tucking the front of it into his jeans.

“Sorry, again,” he said sheepishly.

Thranduil allowed himself a smile, and it helped him come down a bit from the whole ordeal. “Me too. Leave your shirt here. I’ll wash it for you.”

“Thanks.” Bard said again, pulling the coffee-ruined shirt from his back pocket and placing it on top of the towel. He checked his watch. “I have to get back.”

“Sure. Are we still on for Saturday?” Thranduil asked, starting down the stairs.

“I was actually replying to your text when we bumped into each other. So, I guess all this is your fault.”

Thranduil shot Bard a hard look, but was met with a grin. His heart skittered, desperately trying to keep pace with the apparent humour. Being so close, he could see the largest of Bard’s neck tattoos more clearly; it was a rose.

“You should know better than to text and walk if you’re so clumsy,” he managed to retort.

“Probably, but I didn’t want to leave you unanswered,” Bard finished.

Thranduil fought the blush rising to his cheeks, but it wasn’t enough to fool Haldir when he saw them coming down the stairs, giving Thranduil a mischievous wink.

“What’s your answer, then?” Thranduil prompted as they reached the shop front door.

“What?” For all his banter, Bard was distracted.

“Where would you like to meet?” Thranduil asked irritably.

“Oh! Um, how about the park?”

“Which one?”

Bard’s eyes widened. “There’s more than one?”

“The one around the corner is best. It’s behind the day care,” Thranduil said.

“Okay, let’s do that,” Bard agreed.

They waved goodbye and Bard exited the shop, jogging down the street back to the tattoo studio. When Thranduil turned around, Haldir was watching him from behind the counter, snipping the stems off a bouquet of flowers.

“So, no coffee?” he asked idly.

Thranduil sighed deeply and rubbed his face.

“My arse hurts.”

He was beginning to think this was all a very bad idea.

It was Thranduil’s turn to pick up Legolas that afternoon. The day care wasn’t far, so he shoved his feet into sneakers and made the journey on foot, hoping to clear his head on the way.

He was unsure how to approach his new acquaintanceship with Bard. Thranduil had made a point of _not_ making friends with any of the other parents at the day care – despite their best efforts – but the idea of being friends with Bard didn’t concern him in that respect.

It concerned him in other ways, to be sure, but Thranduil at least felt that he could trust Bard to some degree. He was new in town, and therefore yet to be influenced by nosy neighbours and gossiping coworkers. Not that Thranduil would call Gilraen and Arathorn gossipy – indeed, they were among the very few tolerable people he did call friends – but word had a way of getting around at record speed, and he would hate for Bard to fall in with the wrong crowd.

Not to mention, he was the only other single dad in the area, so they were united in that, at least. Surely, they were meant to be friends. Whether it was a bad idea or not, there was something to be said for that.

Thranduil arrived at the day care right in time for the after-work rush. Dozens of cars lined the street outside while parents collected their children inside. The shrieks and squeals of the kids found Thranduil before he even entered the door, and he set about finding Legolas as quickly as possible in order to escape making small talk with anyone.

Thankfully, his son was outside on the swings. Thranduil made his way over to the teacher who was pushing him, evidently avoiding the crowd of parents just as much as Thranduil was.

“Legolas, your dad’s here,” she said, halting the swing gently.

Legolas wriggled out of the swing excitedly and bolted towards Thranduil. The knees of his jeans were caked in mud and one of the Velcro straps on his shoes flapped wildly as he ran, but all Thranduil saw was his little smile. He never got tired of it.

He bundled Legolas up in his arms and stood up straight, swinging him around. Legolas laughed with his whole body, his head tilted back over Thranduil’s arm.

Celebrían came over from the swings. Thranduil realised he hadn’t seen her in a while, and when he noticed a telling bump of her belly, immediately understood why.

“Hi, Thranduil. How are you?”

“I’m alright. You’ve been away,” he said, but not in a way that alluded to her being pregnant. He didn’t want to be rude.

Celebrían patted her belly fondly. “I get really sick in the first trimester, so I had to take some time off,” she explained.

Thranduil almost said _“me too,”_ but caught himself quickly and offered her a sympathetic nod instead.

“Are you feeling better now?”

“For the most part. I just have to stay away from dairy. I think this one missed me, though.” Celebrían ruffled Legolas’ hair.

Thranduil set him back on the ground. “Ready to go?”

“Can I say goodbye to Gimli first?”

“Gimli’s already gone home, love,” Celebrían said.

Legolas looked disappointed.

“That’s okay. You’ll see him tomorrow,” Thranduil said. “Can you get your bag, please?”

Perking up a little bit, Legolas nodded and hurried inside. In the same breath, a little girl with dark hair came running out. She dived for Celebrían’s leg, looking distraught in her purple dress.

“Mummy, mummy. Aragorn keeps pulling my hair.”

Celebrían sighed and closed her eyes momentarily, as if reasoning with herself.

“It was nice to see you again, Thranduil,” she said, before leaving to find the culprit behind her daughter's tears.

Thranduil collected Legolas without much incident. He spied one or two people eyeing him inquisitively and knew that the coffee debacle with Bard that morning had already circulated, but he wasn’t bothered by it. They would find something – _someone_ – new to talk about soon enough.

On the way home, Legolas chatted happily about the events of his day from Thranduil’s shoulders. It had been his turn to collect the eggs from the chicken coop that morning, and he and Gimli had played cops and robbers, but Gimli wasn’t good at being a cop so it hadn’t been any fun.

Thranduil only half-listened. Legolas loved nothing better than to hear himself talk, and so didn’t require much input from anyone save for a few acknowledgements, which Thranduil obliged as best he could. His mind was still wandering to that morning, secretly wishing his problems were as futile as his four-year-old’s.

The shop was closed when they returned. Thranduil opened the side gate and headed up the stairs to the back door, dropping Legolas on his feet as they entered. Haldir was in the kitchen, making dinner. Thranduil slid onto the chair at the counter, slumping forward miserably.

“What’s wrong?” Haldir asked, sliding a wooden spoon into his apron. “Cute boys gotcha down?”

Thranduil allowed himself a moment to consider this.

“Yeah,” he mumbled into the bench.

Before he had the chance to elaborate, however, he heard Legolas calling out from the hallway. Thranduil squashed a groan and got up.

Legolas was in Thranduil's bedroom, rifling through his chest of drawers.

“What are you looking for, Leafy?”

“My Spider-Man costume,” Legolas said furiously, tossing a jumper over his head as if it had done him a personal injury.

“I think it’s under the bed,” Thranduil said.

He retrieved one of the fabric boxes from beneath his bed and unzipped it, revealing an assortment of old clothes and shoes that he didn't need anymore, but was reluctant to part with. He dug through until he saw a streak of red and then helped Legolas into the costume, though he was starting to grow out of it. He punched the air energetically and sprinted off down the hall.

Thranduil put the box back under the bed and got up, stretching tiredly. Above the bed on the wall in front of him, his pride flag flapped gently in the breeze coming through one of the large windows. Thranduil stared at it for a moment, feeling strangely uneasy. It had been a gift from Haldir to celebrate his first year on testosterone.

All at once, fear flooded Thranduil as the events of the morning came back to him. He couldn’t describe the feeling any other way. It was just pure terror.

His hand on his mouth as he came to the full realisation of what he’d done, Thranduil drifted back to the kitchen in a daze.

“What? What happened?” Haldir said at once when he saw him.

“I let Bard get changed in my room today,” Thranduil murmured behind his fingers.

Haldir whistled. “That’s hot. What about it?”

“My trans flag on the wall, is what.”

Haldir’s complexion paled, but he was always the voice of reason in tricky situations, of which Thranduil was quite accustomed of getting himself into.

“I’m sure he didn’t notice it,” Haldir said, turning back to the pan on the stove.

“It’s the first thing you see when you go in there!” Thranduil cried, unable to keep his tone calm.

Haldir tried a different tactic. “He probably doesn’t even know what it is.”

“It’s very clearly a pride flag. You only need an internet browser from there.”

Haldir didn’t say anything for several minutes, which Thranduil decided was much, _much_ worse than listening to his sometimes haphazard logic. Haldir was rarely a man lost for words, so to find him in just such a way was unbearable.

Thranduil bit down on his thumbnail, thinking hard.

His mind went to the worst-case scenario at once. Bard knew, and he would tell everyone, and Thranduil would be at the mercy of the gossiping neighbours. He would have to sell the business and move out. Legolas would be back to square one trying to make friends at day care. He was at an age where stability was vital, and Thranduil’s heart broke at the thought of tearing him away from everything he knew.

Thranduil wasn’t ashamed of being trans. That wasn’t the issue at all, and he knew that the most likely scenario was that, if Bard did spread it around town, nothing would really change. Legolas might get curious questions once he started school, and people would shoot Thranduil funny looks when he walked down the street, but that would surely be the hardest part. People in town were ignorant and they loved their gossip, but they weren’t inherently mean. Just because his parents had been cruel, didn’t mean the rest of the world was.

It was sometimes difficult for Thranduil to remember that. There were always too many different outcomes to consider.

“Maybe Bard is trans, too,” Haldir finally suggested.

“I hate you so much,” Thranduil told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just saying a big thank you here to my friend darcy who helped me with all the trans aspects of this story, even though he will never read it, because he's just a legend like that, but don't tell him i said so. i forgot to add a disclaimer that i myself am not trans, and i'm not trying to take anything for granted. thranduil being trans was an idea that stemmed from my own gender journey many years ago and it was something that always stuck with me. i did my best to write it as true to life as i could based on my limited knowledge, and the help of others. i hope i did it justice.  
> also, as a side note, i played around with the ages in this fic a bit (so unlike me, i know) and so arwen is two/two and a half, and elladan and elrohir will be her little brothers.  
> let me know what you think! thanks for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclosing ages as they aren't all mentioned. I bumped up the years quite significantly to better lay out events prior to the story. Weird how... the older I get, the more I realise people in their mid-20s are still just babies (like me).  
> ~  
> Bard: 25  
> Thranduil: 24  
> Tauriel: 22  
> Haldir: 26  
> Legolas: 4  
> Sigrid: 8  
> Bain: 6  
> Tilda: 4
> 
> Also mild TW for smoking from here on out because *spins wheel for an excuse* tattoo artists are like that.

After much deliberation with Haldir over the black-and-white pieces of a game of Scrabble, Thranduil accepted the inevitable; they would have to wait and see what happened. There was no texting Bard to beg him not to say anything, because there was no guarantee he saw the flag, and asking him if he had seen it was equally as mortifying as it meant revealing the truth anyway.

“I do understand why you keep it a secret, but surely some situations call for the truth. Why go to such an effort to hide it?” Haldir said, setting aside some peonies for the arrangement he was making. Outside, Saturday morning burned bright and sunny.

Thranduil considered his answer before speaking. “Let me put it this way; it’s the difference between someone saying ‘Yeah, Thranduil, I know that guy’ and saying ‘Yeah, Thranduil, I know that…. guy.’”

“Right, because you’re not ‘ _actually’_ a guy,” Haldir elaborated, making air quotations with his fingers.

“People can’t help othering you just because your experiences are different to theirs. Besides, I'm not here to be a spectacle, and that's exactly what they'll make me out to be."

“Fair enough,” Haldir agreed. “Surely Bard is trustworthy, though?"

Thranduil tapped a finger on the shop counter. He had thought about this, of course. It was all he had thought about, in fact, for the past two sleepless nights, and he was yet to come to a conclusion about it.

“I guess I'll find out today,” he said tiredly.

Haldir glanced at the time on the register. “Sooner than you think, too. You should get going.”

Thranduil nodded. “Don’t forget to do an order before you close today.”

He went upstairs to wrestle Legolas into a pair of shoes and pack his bag with snacks and water, as well as Bard’s shirt, free of coffee stains. Legolas was restless with excitement, jumping up and down at the back door while Thranduil patted his jacket for everything he needed.

He’d been half tempted to message Bard to make sure the play-date was still on, but he was afraid to sound anxious or panicky. There had been no cancellation, so he simply had to assume everything was proceeding as normal. Either way, a trip to the park was no loss on his part since Legolas would happily live there if he could.

Thranduil locked the back door and helped Legolas down the stairs, his heart skittering with nerves at every step. He had never done this before; never had to face a stranger and potentially tell them the truth. It was daunting, but if it went well, he wondered at the liberation he might feel. 

Legolas ran on ahead, stopping at the end of each street to wait so they could cross the road together, and then speeding off again. Thranduil traipsed slowly behind, unable to muster the energy to go any faster, yet all the while knowing he was just prolonging the inevitable.

They kept going when they reached the day care, and Thranduil’s anxiety mounting precariously. He felt the itch – the desperate urge – to run away, but he took a deep breath. He wasn’t nineteen anymore; he had to face things head on.

The park loomed in sight around the corner, milling with people already enjoying the sunny autumn day; parents sitting at the benches under the trees and talking, their kids fighting over the swings and chasing each other down slides. There was little for families to do in such a small town without going for a drive, so the park was a hot spot every weekend. Thranduil had spent many a mortifying Sunday morning chatting with other dads while their wives congregated in the rotunda sneaking wine from their water flasks.

He honestly didn’t know who was more insufferable; the clueless dads or the wine-drunk mums.

Thranduil had to admit he was surprised to see Bard sitting on one of the park benches, and even more surprised to see that he was alone. The fact that no one had latched themselves onto him for an interrogation almost impressed Thranduil. The neighbours weren't known to have such restraint.

Taking another breath, he walked through the damp grass towards Bard while Legolas broke off and made for the rock-climbing wall on the playground. When Bard spotted them, he waved cheerfully, though it did nothing to ease Thranduil’s racing heart. He didn’t even have it in him to wave back.

As he walked, Thranduil fully appreciated just how out of place Bard looked. It wasn’t his tattoos that created the contrast – Gilraen and Arathorn had nipped that one in the bud when they had opened their shop five years ago – but combined with the absence of a partner, and his reluctance to mingle with others, it was no wonder he was becoming the talk of the town. 

All too quickly, Thranduil was sitting down next to him and exchanging hellos. Bard handed him a take-away cup of coffee.

“Oh, thanks.” Thranduil accepted it gratefully.

He wanted to make a joke about their incident at the café on Thursday, but it was taking all of his self-control just to sit normally.

“I figured I owed you one,” Bard said, taking a sip of his own.

Procrastinating, Thranduil reached into Legolas’ bag to retrieve Bard’s shirt. “Here.”

Bard took it, and then gasped. “Shit, I forgot to bring the one you lent me. I left it on the table.”

“No rush. I don’t wear that one much anyway.”

That was a lie, but Thranduil was struggling to string coherent sentences together. He didn’t know how to broach the subject about what Bard had seen, or not seen, without giving the game away. Dare he simply tell the truth and be done with it? Thranduil didn't know what kind of person Bard was; didn't know how to judge what his reaction might be. 

He decided instead to search for Legolas on the playground. He was near the slide now, and an older girl was talking to him. With her was a boy a year or two younger – perhaps five or six – and another girl about Legolas’ age. Thranduil recognised the youngest as Bard’s daughter and figured the other two were her siblings. Legolas glanced back at his father, his brown eyes wide and wary. Thranduil gave him a thumbs up, and it was enough to offer courage. He nodded to the older girl and they all went to the sand pit together. Thranduil felt a touch of relief push through the surface of his anxiety, but it was only fleeting.

“That’s Sigrid and Bain,” Bard said, indicating the two older children.

“Your kids look like you,” Thranduil commented, taking a drink from his coffee. It was his usual order. Bard must have asked for it at the shop.

“My wife won’t thank you for saying that,” Bard said with a smile.

“Wife?”

“Uh… no.” Bard’s brow furrowed, as if he himself was confused by what he’d said. He paused, staring down at his coffee cup and tapping the black ring he wore against the rim. “You’d think I’d be used to that by now.”

He didn’t sound sad, but Thranduil noted the tightness in his voice all the same.

He stole a glance at him. Behind his sunglasses, Bard looked tired, as if he too hadn’t been sleeping well. His dark hair was unwashed, and he’d not taken the time to shave.

Thranduil knew all too well how hard it could be to adjust to a new town, kids in tow and no partner to keep the eyes off your back. The locals were harmless, really, but their prying could be intolerable when something new and interesting turned up at their doorstep. And Bard was definitely new and interesting. 

“Have you lived here long?”

 _Damn small talk_ , Thranduil thought bitterly.

“A few years now,” he replied. “It grows on you.”

Bard smiled weakly. “Everyone is very – ah – friendly here.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Thranduil said, eyeing the other parents meandering around the playground. They were very… exposed, sitting on the bench together.

“Was it like this when you moved here?”

“Pretty much. They’ll lose interest soon enough.”

Bard nodded and leaned back on the bench, nursing his coffee quietly while he watched their kids making a sand castle. Beside him, Thranduil returned to stewing over the events of Thursday morning. Bard didn’t seem to be behaving differently towards him, though that was no indication of anything. Thranduil wasn’t so well acquainted with Bard that he could differentiate one mannerism from another. There was just no telling what he was thinking, or what he knew, and a part of Thranduil didn’t want to find out. He just wanted to forget the whole thing had happened, but there was no chance of that. It was going to eat away at him otherwise.

Being an adult was so hard.

“Hey, um– ”

“Do people use that public bathroom?” Bard interrupted. Thranduil had spoken so quietly that he hadn’t heard.

Thranduil looked over at the unassuming brick building by the goal posts on the oval.

“Not really,” he said.

“Great. I’m going to go for a smoke where no one can see me. Is that cool?”

Thranduil could only manage a nod.

Bard took his coffee and walked as casually as possible across the oval, like a teenager hiding a naughty habit from his parents, except his parents were the whole damn town.

Thranduil allowed himself the five minutes Bard was gone to have a silent meltdown on the park bench.

The entire time he had been panicking about the town finding out his little secret, when the real danger was just one person knowing. Thranduil suddenly had opportunity to open up; to unburden himself to a stranger, and feel an emancipation he had only ever dreamed of. And that scared him more than anything else so far.

He rubbed his chest for comfort as Bard returned from the bathrooms. He stopped to throw his empty coffee cup in a nearby bin. Thranduil looked down at his own, feeling it had turned cold in his hand. He set it aside, feeling guilty.

“They were gross,” Bard said as he sat down again.

Thranduil could smell the smoke on Bard’s jacket, clinging tightly to the denim. It reminded him of the noisy, tumultuous days of high school in the city, sharing the pack of cigarettes he’d stolen from his father’s study when he was seventeen. He and his friends used to skip school and take the bus to the library to smoke on the steps, talking about boys, and girls, and all the things they were going to do when they graduated.

Thranduil didn’t even know those people anymore.

“Hey, you okay?”

He blinked himself back to the present, the crisp autumn morning nipping at his fingers. Bard was staring at him, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He had lifted his sunglasses to his head, and his eyes were a bright hazel in the sun.

“Yeah… I’m just tired,” Thranduil said vaguely.

“Me too. I still haven’t finished unpacking boxes.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Bard looked momentarily taken aback, but recovered from the abrupt question quickly. “Sure. Anything.”

Thranduil met his gaze for the first time that day, searching desperately for the answer to the question he hadn’t even asked yet. But he saw nothing.

“On Thursday... when you went to get changed in my room– ”

He couldn’t finish.

Bard put a gentle hand on his arm, and it was warm against his skin underneath his jacket.

“Are you talking about the colours on your wall? I didn’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” he said.

Thranduil felt the air rush out of his chest, the relief almost winding him. It really had been that easy.

“Yeah. Um, thanks. I just – I just wanted to make sure. It’s not something I want the general public to know about.”

Bard snorted. “Can’t say I blame you.”

Thranduil smiled, his heartbeat steadying at last, as if he had never been struck with nerves in the first place. “Have the neighbours given you that much grief?”

“Aw, not really. But I used to live in the city, so I had no idea how fast news can travel. I think I spoke to one person, and suddenly everyone knows where I live. I have more welcome baskets than I know what to do with.”

“Who was the one person you spoke to?” Thranduil asked.

“I think it was one of the girls at the salon,” Bard said, squinting his eyes as if it might help him better remember.

“With the red hair?”

“Yeah!”

“Your first mistake,” said Thranduil sagely. “Anyone else would have at least given you the week to settle in, but Nimrodel has no mercy.”

“Are you serious? I just wanted a haircut.”

Thranduil laughed, and Bard grinned boyishly, slinging an arm over the back of the bench. He rubbed an eye wearily, his tattoos peeking out from his jacket sleeve.

“Fuck me,” he said with a chuckle. “I was not expecting this. I was hoping to go unnoticed for at least a little while. Catch my breath, you know?”

Thranduil knew exactly what he meant.

“No chance of that here. We’ll resuscitate you when we’re done.”

“Wonderful. What made you move here, then?” Bard inquired.

“I was passing through when I saw the ‘for sale’ sign on the corner. Figured I shouldn’t turn down a good opportunity,” Thranduil said honestly. “I thought it would be a nice place to settle down. Raise my son.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Bard said at once.

“I did mean what I said earlier,” Thranduil went on. “People will get over you soon enough. Just keep your conversations short from now on.”

“And how do I know you’re not going to go running around telling everyone about my true feelings?” Bard accused.

“Well, I daresay you should know better by now.”

“I guess I’ll find out next week if you’ve betrayed me or not.”

Thranduil didn’t even notice when he started feeling more at ease. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to someone without the fear of them possibly using the conversation against him. He could always count on Haldir, of course, but he enjoyed the gossip, which left Thranduil an outlier to the rest of the community. But now Bard was here. Maybe things could be different. 

“What about you?” he asked. “What made you choose our quaint little village?”

“Arathorn offered me work,” Bard said simply. “My ex-wife decided one day that the city was too much, so she took the kids and hauled arse to the countryside. I had to follow or I’d never see them. She lives about thirty minutes from here.”

“That must have been hard,” Thranduil said.

“A little. But I was thinking about finding a new studio anyway,” Bard said with a shrug. “Me and Arathorn go way back.”

Thranduil thought back to the wedding the previous weekend. “Right. You were his best man.”

“That’s me. I suppose you did their flowers, then? They were really pretty.”

Thranduil blushed. “Thanks.”

They fell into an amicable silence, watching their kids run amok on the tanbark. They had graduated from the sand pit to the playground. Legolas, ever the climber, was on top of the monkey-bars, watching Sigrid swinging on them beneath him, challenging her to go as far as she could in one swing.

“So, is it just you?” Bard said.

“Pardon?”

“You’re raising your son by yourself?”

Thranduil’s heart sank a little, settling in the little pool of guilt that swirled in his stomach whenever he thought about his solo parenting. Legolas never complained, but Thranduil always saw his curiosity when it came to other children’s parents; mums and dads, together or separate, but always two. He would never know what that was like, and Thranduil’s heart broke for his little boy. When he was older, Thranduil would tell him the truth, but it wouldn’t change anything. Thranduil was all he had.

“Just me. It’s… how it’s always been.”

Bard looked as if he wanted to press further, but Thranduil was grateful when didn’t. Bard might know he was trans, but there was no need to spill anymore beans. One anxiety attack was enough for that day.

“If you ever need a hand – even if it’s just a break – I’m right around the corner,” Bard said softly.

Thranduil was genuinely stunned by the gesture. In the three years since he had moved in, no one had offered to help him. Not that he would have accepted their help, yet here was Bard without a second thought, and Thranduil had never felt more grateful.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

It was getting well past midday when Bard called for his kids to go home, grumbling to Thranduil about all the boxes he still had to unpack. Thranduil was secretly glad, for he was eager to get home to Haldir and tell him how everything had gone.

Before they parted ways, Bard rifled through his pockets and handed Thranduil a folded-up bit of paper. “I’m part of an art show at the chapel next weekend. There was a last-minute position available, so I figured I’d put my work in to generate a bit of interest – not that I need it now, I suppose. Will you come?”

Thranduil opened the small flyer, reading the details briefly. “Sure, I’ll let you know if I can make it.”

Bard flashed one of his handsome grins. “Great. Considering how this week has gone, I’ll need someone to suffer it with me.”

“How kind of you to invite me, then,” Thranduil said quipped with a feign iciness in his tone.

Bard shrugged. “If this town is going to eat me alive, I might as well give them a decent meal.”

Thranduil bit back a smile. “Is that a threat, or a promise?”


	4. Chapter 4

Tauriel was sick on Monday morning, though it was more likely a hangover. Thranduil near physically dragged Haldir out of bed to take her place in the shop, already dreading the day ahead. Tauriel was the more sociable of the three at the florist and she took care of the Monday morning deliveries, reporting back to Haldir (and Thranduil, inadvertently) the latest gossip from the other shopkeepers. That job now fell to Thranduil, though Haldir was dreaming if he thought there would be news for him to indulge in afterwards.

Leaving him to get dressed, Thranduil returned downstairs to open the shop and welcome the morning delivery. Hauling the buckets of foliage and flowers into the shop, he made a start on the orders for the neighbours.

Checking on the computer, he saw that one more had come through over the weekend. The delivery address was for the tattoo studio.

Thranduil decided to do that one last.

“Where’s Leg?” Haldir asked groggily when he arrived downstairs, nursing a large mug of coffee.

“I took him to day care already,” Thranduil told him. “He had to go.”

“What time did he wake you?”

“Five-thirty.”

“Brutal.”

Haldir shuffled over. He was dressed, but still wearing slippers. He rubbed his eyes blearily at the rain pattering on the windows outside.

“Maybe it’s time to push his bedtime back?” he suggested.

“I’ve considered it, but he’ll probably wake up at five-thirty _anyway,_ ” Thranduil grumbled.

Legolas’ early mornings had hindered his attempt to catch up on the sleep he lost the previous weekend. In many ways, Thranduil didn’t know what it was like to not to be tired, but he was really starting to _feel_ it now.

Haldir set his coffee down on the counter and scrolled through the orders on the computer, choosing one to do himself.

“Wait, is this a purchase from the tattoo shop?” he said, pausing when he reached the end.

“Yes.”

“Was this the plan all along? To plug Bard for another sale?”

“I had nothing to do with this,” Thranduil rebuked, stabbing a Gymea leaf into the foam in front of him. “I didn’t say anything about the arrangements we do for the street.”

“Well, at least you have something to look forward to today,” Haldir teased.

Thranduil might have hit him, but there was no denying the truth; he was looking forward to seeing Bard. In light of the weekend, Thranduil had felt little else but sweet relief at having someone know that he was trans. He couldn’t come down from the high if he tried. It was probably the main thing really keeping him awake at this point. Bard knowing, and reacting positively, was like no other comfort Thranduil had ever experienced. He had spent so many years running from those who outcasted him, only to run right into someone who accepted him.

So, some time before midday, Thranduil packed a two-tiered cart with orders and felt good jitters flaring in his chest. It had been a long time since he’d been eager to talk to anyone.

The tattoo studio was one of the last shops on the street (or one of the first, if you were going the other way), which meant Thranduil had to endure all the other shopkeepers before he got to Bard. Nimrodel in particular tried his patience. As soon as she saw him approach the hair salon she jumped up from the chair at reception and yanked the door open, her red curls bouncing.

"No Tauriel today?” she said, her enormous brown eyes blinking innocently, but not fooling Thranduil for a second.

“She asked for the day off,” he lied, passing her order over.

“I always like our morning chats,” Nimrodel said. She fixed Thranduil with an inquiring look, raking over his long hair. “When are you coming in for a haircut?”

Thranduil balked. Part of the reason his hair had even gotten to such a length was because he didn’t want to be trapped in a chair at the mercy of the salon girls.

“Goodbye, Nimrodel.”

He moved on quickly, baffled as to how Tauriel enjoyed this.

The café was next, and Mithrellas gave Thranduil one of her all-knowing smiles. Then it was the real-estate agency with pink anthuriums and wild roses, and the bank with snapdragons and peonies, and finally the bookstore where Bilbo accepted an order of yellow and orange carnations. Thranduil managed to worm his way out of any lengthy conversations with his usual one-word replies and sharp goodbyes, but at the bookstore he tarried a while. He and Bilbo were on good terms, and if there was anyone who hated the neighbours more than Thranduil, it was him.

When at last he reached the tattoo shop, Thranduil saw the glass door open. Bard stepped out, a cigarette in his mouth. He leaned against the brick wall of the building and lit it, shrugging on a flannel shirt. Thranduil paused with some way still to go, unable to resist the temptation to view Bard from afar. He had a boyish, casual way about him; one foot pressed up against the wall as he browsed his phone, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Thranduil was fascinated to see him wearing glasses, as well. He had shaved, and his hair was clean and curled behind his ears. His socks were mismatched under the rolled cuffs of his black jeans.

“Hey,” Thranduil greeted when he walked over at last.

Bard looked up from his phone, the cigarette already half-smoked in his hand. His face brightened with a smile at the sight of Thranduil. Putting his phone away, he let his glasses drop on a black nylon string around his neck and he scraped the end of the cigarette on the wall behind him to put it out.

“You got my order in, then?” he said, gesturing to the last bundle of flowers on the cart.

“I haven’t done flowers for you guys in a while,” Thranduil said, peering into the tattoo shop. Arathorn and Gilraen were busy inside.

“Yeah, I figured I ought to change that.”

Thranduil blushed under Bard’s gaze, trying to compose himself.

“Are you kidding me with this?” he said, giving the glasses cord around Bard’s neck a gentle tug.

“Ah, yeah. I need them for reading, but after losing two pairs I had to just face the facts.”

Thranduil could only smirk. He privately thought it was cute, but he didn’t dare tell Bard that.

“Are you busy?”

“Not really,” Bard said. “I’ve got time for a walk-in, if you want.”

“Ha, no, thank you.”

Thranduil had considered getting tattoos before, but he could never make up his mind on what he wanted, and so opted to just not have them. He had never really understood the appeal, but looking at Bard was almost enough to change his mind. His tattoos were fine and beautiful, and Thranduil couldn’t decide if he was envious or attracted. Body goals, or boyfriend goals.

“Oh, actually, it’s good you’re here.”

“It is?”

Bard dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He slipped the half-smoked one inside, and then handed the box to Thranduil.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow sceptically.

“I’m trying to quit. Would you mind helping out?”

Thranduil hesitated, but took the packet and put it on the cart. “What if you buy more when I say no?”

“I won’t,” Bard assured. “I was four months sober until I moved here. It will be easier to stop again with some help.”

“Okay.”

Thranduil went weak at Bard’s smile. It was a smile to fall for, and one he wanted to look at forever.

“What are you doing now?”

“You’re my last delivery,” Thranduil said. "So, nothing."

“Wanna get coffee? I have a cancellation, so I’m taking a long lunch,” Bard clarified.

Thranduil instinctively went to decline, tentative to draw any more attention to himself where Bard was concerned. The outing at the park with their kids must have been enough to send the whole town into a frenzy of whispers, judging by the sly looks everyone was giving him. Another coffee shop adventure was out of the question.

But Thranduil thought back to Bard’s comment on Saturday.

_Might as well give them a decent meal._

“I’ll just take this back.”

Bard retrieved the flowers from the cart and went back inside to put them in the empty vase at the reception desk. Thranduil stole a final glance at him before heading back down the street, dragging the cart behind him. He tucked the cigarettes into his jacket pocket.

Haldir was suspicious when Thranduil said he was going to lunch.

“You never go out to lunch.”

“Bard invited me,” Thranduil said, trying his best to sound as nonchalant as possible, though the effort was wasted on Haldir.

“Ohh. Now things are _really_ getting interesting.”

“Shut up.”

Thranduil was about the put the cigarettes in a drawer, but immediately thought better of it. If Haldir was going to be like _that_ about going to lunch, he’d go mental over keeping Bard’s cigarettes for him.

Thranduil checked his reflection in the mirror on the wall before leaving.

“Do I look okay?” he asked.

Haldir walked over and stood next to him, and through the bright flowers they looked at each other in the mirror. Haldir was slightly shorter than Thranduil. 

“You’re a really good-looking dude, Thran.”

Thranduil turned away from the mirror and glared at Haldir face-to-face. “I’m serious.”

Haldir tucked one side of Thranduil’s hair behind his ear pointedly. He always did say it looked better that way. “So am I.”

“I won’t be too long. Text me if you need me to come back, okay?” Thranduil said.

“Just go!” 

Thranduil shot his friend a nervous grin and hurried out the door. 

The rain from that morning seemed to be threatening a savage return and Thranduil tugged at the collar of his shirt to stay the cold wind. Bard was already waiting for him at the café, his dorky glasses catching the light from inside.

“How long do you have for lunch?” he asked, opening the door.

“I’ll go back when I’m needed,” Thranduil said.

He did not miss Bard’s small smile as they entered.

It was crowded, as usual, but only with passers-by on coffee runs. Bard and Thranduil made an order and then sidled into chairs at one of the empty tables by the window.

“Do you know if you can come to the art show on Saturday?” Bard queried, grabbing a salt shaker to fiddle with as he spoke.

“Oh, yes. What time is it again?” Thranduil had left the flyer on the fridge at home.

“Six-thirty. I’ll pick you up and we can go together,” Bard said.

Outside, the rain arrived. It was warm in the coffee shop, and Bard’s leg comfortably stuck out under the table. Thranduil brushed it with his foot every time he shifted in his chair, but Bard did not move. He was watching the droplets of rain chasing each other down the window, and Thranduil took the moment to observe the little tattoo that was inked just above his left eyebrow. It said _‘hopeless.'_

Bard’s eyes suddenly flicked to Thranduil and he didn’t have time to look away.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Is it this one?” Bard said, touching his eyebrow, as if trying to feel the tattoo. “It’s the only one I actually regret.”

Their coffees arrived. Mithrellas set them on the table with a clink, lingering a bit longer than was really necessary.

“You do have… a lot,” Thranduil continued when she was gone. To have only one tattoo to regret was quite an achievement considering Bard was practically more ink than skin.

“Yeah. Can’t say I get used to people staring at me,” Bard said, emptying a sugar packet into his mug. “But that’s okay.”

“What do your kids think?” Thranduil asked.

Bard took a drink before answering. “I don’t think they really see me any other way. Even Sigrid. She’s the oldest, but not by enough to remember me before I had tattoos. My ex-wife doesn’t really like it, though. She thinks I look like a criminal.”

Thranduil frowned. He didn’t get that impression from Bard at all, not even when he’d first walked into the flower shop. He was so good-natured and easy-going from the moment you set eyes on him. Thranduil barely even knew Bard, but he thought that judgement was a bit unfair, especially coming from someone who _did_ know him.

“She’s an idiot,” Thranduil finally said.

Bard barked a laugh. “She’s not all bad.”

“Have you been separated long?” Thranduil hoped it wasn’t too impertinent a question, but his curiosity towards Bard blazed eagerly.

“Nearly two years,” Bard said. His leg bumped against Thranduil’s under the little table. “We did everything young. People weren’t even surprised when we split.”

“How young were you?”

“We were seventeen when Sigrid was born. Got married right out of high school; all that fun stuff. But we called it quits about a year after Tilda. It just became too… empty.”

“I’m sorry,” said Thranduil.

Bard shrugged. “It’s no one’s fault. She’s already found someone new, anyway.”

“And you?”

Bard blinked at Thranduil, his brown eyes wandering over him before catching his gaze.

“Not yet.”

A swell of heat rushed to Thranduil’s throat and he lifted his drink to hide his face. He couldn’t tell if Bard was being direct or evasive, and didn’t know which way he would rather have it. Thranduil hadn’t taken a liking to anyone since he was a teenager, and it occurred to him in that moment just how out of practice he was when it came to flirting and picking up hints.

He decided perhaps he was reading into it too much.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Bard said, breaking the silence before it became too heavy between them.

The coffee shop had mostly emptied now, with only half a dozen other people enjoying lunch around them.

“You can try,” Thranduil said lightly, put back on his guard. He always did keep his cards close to his chest, but he thought he might make an exception for Bard.

“Do you find it hard being a single parent?”

It was a fair enough question, Thranduil thought. He had honestly been expecting something more intrusive, so he appreciated it for what it was.

“I do,” he said, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup. “But it’s not the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Okay. I’m glad it’s not just me, then,” Bard said.

Outside, the rain came down in sheets, lashing down the road as people ducked into shops for cover. Thranduil checked his phone, but there was thankfully no message from Haldir.

“So, um, what kind of art do you do?” he scrambled to keep the conversation going.

Bard seemed to perk up at the change of subject. “I mostly do black-work at the shop, but I’ve been experimenting with watercolour for the art show. Wanna see?”

Thranduil nodded eagerly and Bard pulled out his phone. They leaned closer to one another across the table so Bard could pick and choose what pictures to show Thranduil, which was unfortunate, because Thranduil could hardly concentrate on what he was looking at due to such proximity. Bard’s shoulder was nearly touching his own, and he could smell the remnants of the cigarette underneath his body spray. Thranduil had to make a conscious effort to pay attention to the photos.

“I like that one,” he managed, pointing to a colourful portrait of Bard’s eldest daughter.

“I tried to get her to sit still for that one, but I ended up copying from a photo,” Bard said.

He turned to face Thranduil as he spoke, and their noses almost touched. Thranduil felt Bard’s warm exhale on his mouth and drew back quickly. Perhaps too quickly. Bard looked down sheepishly and straightened himself in his chair.

“I put that one in the art show,” he finished lamely.

“Is there some kind of competition?” Thranduil asked, the back of his neck burning.

“No, but nearly everything will be for sale.”

“Maybe I’ll buy something,” Thranduil teased lightly.

A hint of colour flushed Bard’s cheeks. “Please don’t. It’s all way overpriced.”

“Taking this town for all it’s worth, then?”

“I hope so,” Bard said with a smirk. “They owe me.”

“Just try telling them that,” Thranduil said, glancing around the café at the other patrons. He didn’t recognise anyone, but Mithrellas was still behind the counter making drinks, and she was worth ten witnesses on her own.

“Here, I’ll give you a sample and maybe you can commission me sometime,” Bard said.

He took a napkin from the cup of cutlery on the table and slid a pen out of the pocket of his flannel. He bent low over the table and started to draw, making short, steady strokes with the pen so as not to snare the napkin. When he was done, he handed it to Thranduil.

It was a drawing of a fox, curled up asleep with little flowers forming a border around it. Underneath its tail was a banner that said _‘fox this town.’_

Thranduil smiled at it, his heart skipping a beat at the gesture. It was by no means a perfect drawing, but it was a shame it was on a napkin, because he wanted to frame it and keep it forever.

He thought he might do that anyway.

Suddenly, there was a violent buzz in his jacket pocket. Thranduil jumped, and then fumbled to answer his phone.

Haldir was texting him to come back already. He had sent a multitude of messages, which included ‘HELP,’ and ‘FUCK,’ and then a photo of an upturned bucket, water and flowers all over the back storeroom. Thranduil sighed and typed in a quick response.

“I have to go.”

Bard looked disappointed, but he stood from his seat as Thranduil did, finishing the rest of his coffee.

“This was nice,” he said.

Thranduil looked up from his phone, already distracted by the mess that awaited him back at the store. But Bard’s soft expression made him want to stay in spite of it.

“Yeah. We should do it more often,” he returned.

“Definitely. You’re the only person around here I can really stand to talk to,” Bard said.

Thranduil chuckled. “Same."

They exited the coffee shop together, stepping out into the rain. Thranduil could feel Mithrellas’ eyes on him, so he pulled his hood up.

“Thanks again,” Bard said.

Thranduil smiled. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twit](https://twitter.com/cheekycornchip)  
> thanks for all your comments and support everyone ^^ I really appreciate it. Hope you liked this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in Bard's POV. Yay for zero consistency!! 
> 
> As always thank you all for your support and comments! I know there aren't many people left reading for these two but I love and appreciate every single one of you who are still around ♡

When Bard woke on Saturday morning, the first thing he heard - or, rather, didn't hear - was silence. The sweet, blissful silence of knowing his kids were at their mum’s house for the next week, but also the unsettling, hollow silence of the quiet suburbs outside. Only birds chirped in the cold fog, greeting the day.

Bard had grown up in the city; grown up with the trams and the trains and the busy people running to work underneath his apartment window. The noise had been comforting. It had been the sound of the life, moving around him, and reminding him that he was alive too. 

The silence of the country, in contrast, was almost deafening.

Bard got up slowly, throwing all plans to make his weekend productive out the window. The past two weeks had been some of the most exhausting of his life, so he figured he deserved to take it easy that day.

He had breakfast, ignored a call from his ex-wife, gave the still unpacked boxes in the kitchen a steely glare, and promptly left the house. His mind was on a smoke. Well, less on a smoke and more what involved getting one. Coffee, conversation, and maybe even a smile. Bard considered for a moment that perhaps giving Thranduil his cigarettes had not been the smartest move as it had the opposite of the desired effect.

He locked up his new house and headed down the road, the crisp morning biting at his fingers. The shops weren’t far, so Bard figured he ought to make the most of his lazy day by walking there. He put music on, digging in his jacket for earbuds. Every song that played made him think of Thranduil.

Thranduil was so unlike everyone else in town; unlike anyone Bard had ever met, really. He was taciturn and disinterested, but Bard saw a kindness in him, and he wondered if he was the only one who did. Perhaps he was the only one privy to it, but he couldn't think of a reason why that might be. Who was he but a washed-up divorcee, longing to be known? 

Absently, Bard thought he maybe fancied Thranduil. It had been such a long time since he’d fancied anyone that he’d all but forgotten what it felt like. He supposed it felt like this, whatever _this_ was. The swell of heat in the lowest part of his belly, and the highest part of his heart. Flowers blooming in all the empty spaces in between.

Shaking off a small bought of nerves at the thought, Bard went for coffee when he reached the shops, ordering Thranduil’s usual with his own.

“Hiya, Bard,” greeted the girl at the coffee machine. Bard couldn’t remember her name, but she, like everyone else in this town, had no trouble remembering his.

He kept the conversation with her as short as possible, standing to the side to wait for his drinks. He tried and failed to ignore the other patrons staring at him.

The girl set the drinks on the counter with a smile. “Tell Thranduil I said hello.”

A sigh escaped Bard against his will, and her smile only seemed to grow wider.

Peeking inside the flower shop at the end of the street, Bard spotted Thranduil at the counter. His hair was up in a loose ponytail, stray silver hairs framing his face. He was wrapping flowers around a large gold hoop which dangled from a hook on the ceiling. Bard shouldered his way inside, the coffees still hot in his hands.

Thranduil didn’t look up from the table as Bard entered, despite the chime of the bell. He was choosing from amongst the many flowers in front of him and didn’t notice anyone approach, or else didn’t care to heed a potential customer. It was Saturday morning - Bard didn't blame him. He set the coffees down on the counter and made a face at Thranduil through the hoop floating between them.

Thranduil started when he saw the coffee, glancing up at last. He didn’t smile when he saw Bard, but his mouth did quirk in surprise. It was hard to make him fully smile, but Bard thought it was close enough.

“What are you doing here?” Thranduil said by way of a greeting, picking up a flower and adding it into the arrangement.

Bard wanted to tell him he was just there to say hello, but he figured it was safest not to embarrass himself so early in the morning.

“Smoke?”

Thranduil opened a drawer under the counter and took one from the packet. He handed it to Bard, who tucked it behind his ear. He pushed Thranduil’s coffee towards him.

“Thanks.”

“What’s this for?” Bard asked, prodding the hoop and making it spin on its string.

“Baby shower,” Thranduil said simply, holding it still.

“People do fancy stuff like this for baby showers?”

“This isn’t very fancy.”

“I don’t think we had nice flowers like this for any baby showers, but I guess I wasn’t there. We did do a gender reveal for Tilda, though,” Bard said.

Thranduil did the gag-me-with-a-spoon gesture, which Bard privately thought was a very reasonable reaction.

“Yeah, it was terrible. We did the balloon one – you pop it and get covered in glitter. I had pink glitter in my hair for weeks.”

That one made Thranduil smile, which made Bard's heart do a flip. He busied himself with his coffee, peering over the top of the cup to watch Thranduil. He was absorbed in his work, but the smile lingered sweetly.

“You know, people are going to get the wrong idea about us if you keep stopping by like this,” he said.

The aforementioned flowers in Bard’s chest seemed to open a little. Waking up, facing the sun.

“What idea would that be?” he motioned coolly, leaning against the counter.

Thranduil stilled, a pink rose in his hand, as if he had spoken out of turn, or wished he hadn’t spoken at all. A tiny crease formed at his eyebrows, careful and pensive.

“Never mind,” he said, returning his attention to his work.

The flowers closed.

“The girl at the café told me to say hello to you,” Bard offered.

Thranduil eyed his coffee, still untouched. “Mithrellas? Doesn’t surprise me.”

“She really has nothing better to do, huh?”

“She probably does, but you’re much more interesting,” Thranduil said.

“Am I?” Bard frowned, resting his elbow on the counter now, unconsciously spreading himself into Thranduil’s space. It was a habit he could never quite shake; he liked to be close to people. The right people.

“Does it bother you?”

Bard looked back at Thranduil. His attention was no longer on the arrangement, and his blue eyes did not waver from Bard’s. There was a hint of concern in them, as if he was trying to figure Bard out.

“Only a little,” Bard confessed, shifting self-consciously. “It’s weird.”

“It’s a small town,” Thranduil said softly. “They’re harmless, really. And when you’re no longer interesting, they treat you like family.”

Bard tapped his black ring thoughtfully against his cup. “Is that that resuscitation you were talking about the other day?”

Thranduil smiled again. “I suppose so. I didn’t really have the misfortune of being the centre of attention like you, so I can't say for sure.”

_You’re the centre of my attention._

“Well, hopefully they get over me sooner rather than later,” Bard said, straightening up and taking a step back. “Are you still good for tonight?”

“Yes. Six-thirty, right?”

Bard gave a thumbs up. “Six-thirty.”

When he left, he threw the cigarette in the bin.

At six-twenty, Bard was still getting dressed, glaring peevishly at his reflection in the mirror. Many of his clothes were still in boxes, resulting in him fully understanding just how much of them were black, and boring. Swearing under his breath, he pulled out a black t-shirt and put it on. He put his flannel over it.

It would have to do.

Bard scrambled for his belongings, spraying himself with cologne as he went. Keys, wallet, phone, tickets (two). When he saw his ex-wife calling again, he hung up on her. He grabbed his leather jacket from a hook in the hall and slammed the front door closed in his haste to leave.

He was on his motorcycle and halfway to Thranduil’s house when he realised he had forgotten the t-shirt he’d borrowed _again._

He was nervous, as if this was the first time they were going out together. Nervous like a teenage boy on his first date. He wished it was that simple.

The sun was yet to fully set, burning a brilliant orange as Bard approached the shops. There were no other vehicles on the road, so he did a smooth U-turn onto the street in front of the florist. He kicked the bike stand out and lifted up the visor of his helmet, pulling out his phone to text Thranduil.

**[Bard]  
** _im here_

**[Thranduil]  
** _????_

Bard grinned so hard his cheeks squashed inside his helmet. He wasn’t one to show off, but that had been the exact reaction he was after by showing up on his motorcycle.

Thranduil emerged from the gate to the side of the shop. Unlike Bard, he was dressed nicely in a collared shirt and jeans, his hair washed and brushed behind his shoulders. He shut the gate and crossed his arms pointedly at Bard.

 _He’s so tall,_ Bard thought weakly.

He retrieved a helmet from a satchel and tossed it to Thranduil, who caught it more confidently than Bard was expecting.

Thranduil turned it over in his hands. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah…” said Bard uncertainly, his voice muffled by his own helmet. Maybe this wasn’t as cool as he thought it would be.

But Thranduil’s face broke into a smile. His long legs brought him over to the motorcycle and swung him on effortlessly. He shoved the helmet over his head, silver hair sticking out. Bard’s breath caught when Thranduil’s arms wrapped around his waist. Heart hammering, he glanced over his shoulder, the bike rumbling under them.

“You’re not scared?” he asked.

Thranduil’s eyes were expressionless through the clear visor.

“Of you, I am,” he said.

Bard laughed, the knot in his stomach loosening, the flowers blooming. He knocked his visor back over his eyes and returned the bike stand to its place.

The chapel hall was lit up in the dusk when they arrived, white light pooling out onto the dark asphalt as music played inside. Bard parked the bike near the entrance and turned off the engine, removing his helmet. As he climbed off, he turned to look at Thranduil. He was also free of his helmet, and he looked breathless, his nose and cheeks flushed. He was beautiful.

They left their helmets with the bike and approached the entrance where Bard handed their tickets to the woman at the door. The hall was already lively and Bard recognised quite a few people from town making the rounds of the art work. He could see his own tucked away in a corner, and was flattered to see several people hanging around.

“Drink?” he asked Thranduil.

“Please,” Thranduil said, evidently very keen on the idea.

“What do you want?”

“Anything.”

Bard went to the small bar and ordered two beers, returning to Thranduil, who accepted one gratefully.

“There are so many people here,” he muttered.

“I guess there’s nothing else on tonight,” Bard said. “Come on, we’ll see what’s good.”

They walked together around the hall, admiring the paintings and drawings, some by people they knew, and others by those they didn’t. Bard could see that Thranduil was tense, so he did his best to ease his mind by making jokes about the artwork, pretending his own were so much better. It seemed to work. Thranduil began to smile, and then to laugh, and when his drink was finished, he asked for another. And then another.

Bard felt a little dazed. The alcohol warmed him, and his heart skipped awkwardly in his chest whenever he was close to Thranduil, no longer able to judge an appropriate distance to keep to him. They sat together on one of the sofas scattered about the hall, drinking and talking freely, oblivious to the side-eyes and scowls others were giving them. Bard could only see Thranduil, glad he was here to make the night worthwhile.

But it only lasted until Bard felt a vibration in his jacket pocket, and the smile that he was yet to shake slid from his face in an instant.

**[Arathorn]  
** _ex-wife alert - she’s looking for u. wat u done now_

Bard’s heart dropped to his stomach and he sat up to look around the hall, frantically scanning the bodies near the door. He saw her, talking sternly to Arathorn, who was very obviously stalling as he put his phone away. She didn’t look convinced by his charade, and she was wearing her work clothes, which meant high-heels, and high-heels hurt.

Standing up at once, Bard grabbed Thranduil by the wrist and dragged him to the nearest door, ignoring his yelp of protest. It was mercifully open and Bard shoved him through, following quickly behind. Shutting the door, they were encased in darkness, and Thranduil was tugging his wrist out of Bard’s grip.

“What the fuck?” he said.

Bard let go, and tried to find Thranduil in the dim, but it was too great a contrast to the white hall and his eyes were taking a while to adjust.

“Sorry. My ex-wife showed up. She’s been calling me all day about child support.”

He couldn’t see Thranduil, but he could _feel_ his disapproval.

“You should really pay your child support, Bard.”

“Aw, I will, but not until she gives back my Xbox. Blood for blood.”

He squinted at a sudden flash of light. Thranduil turned on his phone’s torch and cast the bright beam about the room. It was a short hallway that connected the atrium to the church. It was hushed and eerie, and Bard could hear Thranduil’s breathing. His head swam unpleasantly from the rush of movement and the alcohol.

“Your kids’ welfare for an Xbox?” Thranduil accused.

“She earns more money than I do, okay? I’m just being petty. I don’t know how she knows I’m here.”

Bard was relieved when Thranduil offered him a small smile.

“She sounds lovely.”

“Yeah, delightful,” Bard said sarcastically.

“Well, you’ve got us into this mess. Now what?”

Bard shrugged uselessly.

Rolling his eyes, Thranduil moved the light around the hallway again, until the beam settled on the opposite door. He walked over and tried it, leaning against the heavy wood. To their amazement, it opened with a slight creak. Thranduil chuckled softly as he poked his head through, and Bard heard the sound echo around the church on the other side. Before he knew what was what, Thranduil had snuck through and disappeared.

Stomach lurching, Bard went after him.

The church was cavernous in the night-time, the stained-glass windows catching ghost-like reflections of the moon outside. The pews loomed in the aisles, daring Bard to sit on them. They weren’t supposed to be here, and it felt that way too.

To his mortification, he saw the shine of Thranduil’s phone flitting about the chancel, his footsteps thudding against the carpet, unbearably loud in the absence of any other noise. Bard ran over, horrified to see him trying more doors.

“You’re going to get us into trouble,” Bard hissed, hastening over to him.

“Not unless we get caught,” Thranduil said, the smirk on his face making Bard wish he’d never brought him along, but also making his heart skip a beat with wonder. “Oh, this one’s unlocked.”

The door made the loudest creak Bard had ever heard in his life, but Thranduil was undeterred. He pushed it open and vanished once again.

Peering inside, Bard watched him climb a flight of spiralling stairs, the light from his phone casting twisted shadows on the walls. Bard was starting to consider going back and facing his ex-wife, because surely it would be safer than this, but he went on behind Thranduil, tripping awkwardly on the first step.

“If we do get caught, it will be your fault,” he said weakly, taking the next few steps with even less confidence.

Suddenly, he was face-to-face with Thranduil, and he could smell the warm honey in his hair, their noses almost touching. 

“You scared?”

“No!” Bard rebuked indignantly. 

Thranduil laughed, and the sound hummed around the tower. It seemed so unlike him to be so mischievous, and yet it didn't surprise Bard in the slightest.

They kept going, climbing the stairs at the back of the church. Bard was curious now to see what was at the top. The walls and windows were dusted with cobwebs and long-dead insects, and the bannister was sticky from the build up of dust.

At the top, the only door was locked, which Bard thought was ridiculous considering all the others hadn’t been. But Thranduil continued, drawn to the left by a gentle breeze that was drifting through.

The landing opened to an enclosed balcony where the old church masonry had begun to crumble with age. An abandoned nest sat on the balustrade, but the view was magnificent. They weren’t very high, but high enough to see over the rolling hills of the nearby village, the little lights of the houses twinkling like stars in the distance.

Thranduil leaned on the low wall, looking out with a small smile. Bard came over stood beside him, the cool autumn wind dispersing the leftover buzz of alcohol. 

“This is much better,” Thranduil said quietly, closing his eyes.

Bard agreed, though he still wasn't looking at the view.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of digging into thranduil's past, which i kept mostly the same for those of you who remember the original fic.  
> thanks as always for reading! hope you like this chapter. it's kinda pointless? but i enjoyed writing it all the same

Thranduil was opening the shop on Tuesday morning when he received a text from Bard. It was a photo of an Xbox console.

**[Bard]  
** _check it!_

 **[Thranduil]  
** _Glad to see your kids will have food on their table now_

 **[Bard]  
** 😭

Smiling to himself, Thranduil put his phone away and unlocked the front door of the flower shop just in time for Tauriel to show up, running in out of the rain. She pressed a warm cup of coffee into his hands.

“I saw Bard at the café,” she said, peeling off her raincoat. “Did you guys enjoy the art show on the weekend?”

Thranduil did not answer at once. He sipped his coffee sleepily, pondering that night in the church tower. He and Bard had stayed up there until the art show was over, talking. About things he hardly remembered now. He only remembered Bard; his gentle hums and lingering eyes. Lingering in a way Thranduil liked.

“We did,” he finally said.

“I’m surprised you even went,” Tauriel stated conversationally, dumping her bag on the floor and opening the cash register to count the money, always moving, always busy.

“Why do you say that?”

She paused mid-count and looked up at him incredulously. “You never want to go out with anyone.”

“Oh, right.” Thranduil was so swept up by Bard he had forgotten he usually said no when people asked him to go places, whether it was a date, or just to hang out. He hadn’t said no to Bard even once so far.

“You know everyone’s talking about you two, right?” Tauriel said, flicking through the last of the money and returning it to the till.

Thranduil barely noticed himself smiling. “I know.”

Tauriel opened her mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the thundering of little feet coming down the stairs. Legolas came squealing and barrelling through the curtains of the backroom and right into her legs. Tauriel picked him and swung him around.

“What are you doing here, little dude?” she said, hanging him upside down while he giggled.

“He’s sick,” Thranduil said.

“Aww, is that why I got called in early? Gross.” Tauriel set Legolas on the ground and crouched down in front of him, pulling him into a proper hug. She blew a raspberry on his cheek regardless of his cold. “You staying at home with your ada today?”

“We’re going to watch cartoons!” Legolas crowed, his voice croaky. He had been up half the night with a cough, which meant Thranduil had also been up half the night.

“Are you sure you’ll you be okay to work by yourself?” he asked. “I’ll still be upstairs if you need help.”

Tauriel nodded. “Yeah. It will be nice to be on my own, actually. I can finally play some decent music.”

Rolling his eyes at what Tauriel considered to be 'decent music,' Thranduil moved across the shop and shuffled Legolas through the curtains into the back room.

“If Bard comes by, his cigarettes are in the drawer.”

He took note of Tauriel’s confused expression, but did not give her a chance to say anything in response. He scooped up Legolas and they went upstairs.

Switching on the television, Thranduil wrapped Legolas in his favourite blanket and curled up next to him on the sofa with a box of tissues. It was days like these he really hated being a single parent.

But he wasn’t the one who was unwell, so he had to suck it up. He was tired – so tired his face felt numb – but at least he had Tauriel’s help in the store, and Haldir’s had made them breakfast before heading out for the day.

Thranduil made it to midday without falling asleep, reading a book and plying Legolas with water, fruit and aspirin until, at last, he fell asleep in the middle of a cartoon he didn’t like as much as the others. That was when Bard texted again.

**[Bard]  
** _lunch? I have another cancellation_ 😡

 **[Thranduil]  
** _Can’t today. Legolas is sick_

  
Haldir had stopped by only briefly to drop off groceries before going for lunch with his parents, so Thranduil couldn’t leave the house. Even if Haldir was there, he couldn’t, because a sick Legolas meant a clingy Legolas, and Haldir didn’t make the cut where that was concerned.

But Thranduil felt sad at missing out on another long lunch with Bard – he wished they were able to spend more time together. They were both so busy.

**[Bard]  
** _you like sushi?_  
 _whats good at the sushi bar?_

 **[Thranduil]  
** _anything with avocado  
_ _do not get the chicken  
  
_

Bard didn’t send another message, so Thranduil put his phone down and returned to his book. Legolas’s head was on his lap, the cartoons still playing softly in the background. Outside, it had stopped raining, and through the windows Thranduil could see the sparse sunlight reflected in the puddles on the street.

In the shop underneath him, he heard glass break, and Tauriel swearing loudly. Resisting the urge to run down in a panic, Thranduil picked up his phone as it lit up with another message.

**[Bard]  
** _knock knock_

  
Thranduil's heart quickened for several beats. Had Bard brought him lunch?

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs from the shop. Gently, very gently, Thranduil shifted Legolas’ off his lap and laid his head on a pillow instead. Legolas sniffled, but did not waken.

Thranduil brushed himself down hastily, hoping he looked alright. He was dressed in case he needed to go downstairs, but he hadn’t exactly gone to the effort of looking his best.

Bard appeared at the top of the stairs quietly, carrying a paper bag. He grinned when he saw Thranduil standing there, waving the bag at him.

“What are you doing?” Thranduil whispered, walking over and ushering Bard down the hallway to his bedroom where they didn’t have to be mindful of Legolas.

“If you can’t come to lunch, I don’t see the harm in bringing lunch to you,” Bard said.

Thranduil set the bedroom door slightly ajar and slumped down on the floor against his bed. Bard joined him, opening the bag of food.

“You didn’t have to,” Thranduil told him.

“I wanted to,” said Bard. “My next client couldn’t come in any earlier, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Surely you have plenty of other work.”

“Aw, yeah, I do,” said Bard, handing Thranduil a small plastic box of sushi. “But…”

He drifted, his brow furrowing slightly.

“But what?” Thranduil prompted.

Bard glanced at him and seemed to blush. “I’d rather spend that time with you.”

Thranduil bit back a smile, accepting a pair of chopsticks. Sitting on the floor, they ate their food in a comfortable silence. Thranduil pondered Bard all the while. It was difficult to know his motive behind their new friendship; was he interested, like Thranduil was interested, or was he simply being a friendly face in lieu of the rest of the town being unbearable? Thranduil supposed he wouldn’t complain either way. Bard was nice, and seemed to at least feel the same unity between them that Thranduil felt.

He realised then that it had been years since he’d felt anything more than discomfort towards another person. Tauriel was probably the last, when she had swept into his shop just over two years ago, looking for a job. Before her, Haldir had met Thranduil’s eyes with a mirroring look of disgust at the sight of a straight couple making out in their floristry class, which had turned into a fast and strong friendship. And before Haldir… Thranduil couldn’t even remember. He didn’t know those people anymore, though the impact they’d had on his life was always there.

He stole a glance at Bard. He was leaning back against the bed, his legs half-folded under him. He was wearing a jumper today, and the strings of the hood hung uneven. He had boots on, rather than his usual sneakers, and that young, boyish gleam in his eyes that made Thranduil wish they had met years ago, and that he had made different choices.

But the choices he _had_ made meant meeting Bard in the first place.

“Did you grow up here?” Bard asked suddenly, bringing Thranduil back to the present.

Thranduil wondered what his life would have been like if he had. Even with the snooping, he thought his childhood might have been happier here.

“I grew up in the city,” he said.

Bard perked up at this. “Wait, really? What school did you go to?”

Thranduil’s instinct was to hesitate at this question, but his eyes flicked to the pride flag hanging on the wall above his bed, and he remembered he didn’t have to lie to Bard.

“I went to the girls’ private school – the one near the gardens.”

Bard’s eyes widened with surprise. “Not the weird, religious one?”

A yawn came over Thranduil, but he nodded. Bard’s remark made it sound unpleasant… which it had been.

“Did you get in on a scholarship?”

Thranduil couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“No,” he said. “My parents paid my full tuition.”

Bard’s chuckle fell into a soft groan of pretend disappointment. “Don’t tell me you were one of the those awful high-society kids?”

“I guess I was,” Thranduil said mildly.

“What are you doing out here, then?”

Thranduil picked up his last sushi roll pensively. “Running away from my problems.”

Bard nodded sympathetically. “So, when you said it’s just you… it really is…?”

“Just me,” Thranduil finished, unable to fully conceal the sadness in his voice. “I’ve got Haldir, but he’s not a parent or a partner. This was my choice, not his.”

“It can’t be easy, though,” Bard said.

Thranduil thought about Legolas, asleep in the other room, unaware of the sacrifices Thranduil had made for him; for the both of them to be happy. It had been a trying and desperate four years, and yet they passed over Thranduil like a blur when he tried to remember it all. It felt as though he had started running the day he left home, and he hadn’t been able to stop running since.

“I don’t regret the decisions I made,” he said at last.

The door opened fully before anything else could be said. Legolas shuffled into the room, his blanket dragging along the floor behind him. He saw Bard sitting next to Thranduil and frowned, rubbing his eyes of sleep.

“Hey, Leafy. You remember Bard, don’t you?” Thranduil said.

Legolas blinked dolefully at Bard, taking a second to fully absorb his presence. He nodded.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

“Oh, here,” Bard said abruptly, opening the paper bag. “I got some sushi for you too, kiddo.”

Legolas’ face lit up and he hurried over, throwing himself into Thranduil’s lap and taking the box of sushi from Bard.

“I’ll show you how to use chopsticks,” Bard said, splitting apart a new pair.

Thranduil watched Legolas struggle for a little while as Bard attempted to teach him, but it was fruitless. He gave up fairly quickly and ate with his hands, humming happily to himself.

“Thank you,” Thranduil said. Bard’s consideration was always astounding him.

“Anytime.”

“How come you have so many tattoos?” Legolas asked with his mouth full, staring at Bard.

Bard smiled. “Makes me look cool.”

“Aragorn’s mum and dad have lots of tattoos, too.”

“They’re good friends of mine, you know? Are you going to Aragorn’s birthday party on Saturday?” Bard said.

Legolas frowned, and then looked up at Thranduil. “Ada, am I going to Aragorn’s birthday party?”

“Yes. I showed you the invitation last week, remember?”

Legolas turned back to Bard. “I can make an appearance,” he said.

Thranduil and Bard stifled their laughter, but Legolas beamed, knowing full-well he had said something funny. Thranduil gave his son a squeeze, and put a hand on his forehead to check his temperature. He had cooled down.

“If you’re feeling better, maybe we’ll go for hot chocolate?” Thranduil suggested.

Legolas gasped and bounced his head enthusiastically. “Can Bard come too?”

Thranduil looked to Bard for answer. Their eyes met, and Thranduil had to make himself look away to stop from staring.

“Only if I can have one as well,” Bard said.

Legolas stuffed the rest of his sushi into his mouth and got up, grabbing Thranduil by the arm and pulling at it impatiently. Thranduil stood, picking up the rubbish as he went.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he murmured to Bard.

“I want to,” Bard said, and he meant it.

Thranduil smiled; he felt it rise up all the way from his heart. He had been dreading this day, and wanted so much to have someone to help him through it. And now he did.

He threw the rubbish in the trash and put on his shoes while Legolas jumped up and down at the door in his usual way, still in his pyjamas. Thranduil tackled him and stuffed him into clothes, shoes, a beanie, and a coat. He puffed up at his father, his nose red from sneezing.

“I’m not cold,” he grumbled.

“You will be.”

They went through the shop with Bard in tow. There was no glass on the floor, and Tauriel was with a customer. She gave Thranduil a wave of encouragement when she saw them leaving. She was good like that.

Outside, the wind and rain had flattened the falling autumn leaves to the pavement, but the sun broke through the clouds to greet the trio as they walked down to the café. Legolas ran on ahead, jumping into small puddles and onto leaves that still looked like they had some crunch to them. Thranduil was glad to see he was feeling better. He had been unwell all of the previous day, having evidently caught something from one of the other children at the day care. Legolas had a difficult disposition for colds; they often resulted in high fevers and visits to the doctor. But he had been spared this time around, and Thranduil hoped he himself would be able to rest a little easier that night.

“Will you be at the party this weekend? Or will you leave once you drop Legolas off?” Bard asked as they approached the café.

It was a tempting notion.

“I’ll be there,” Thranduil replied, holding the door open for them all to enter.

They bought coffee and cakes from Mithrellas and sat down at the same table as last time, by the window in the corner. Legolas climbed up onto the booth seat while Bard and Thranduil took the chairs, their legs brushing under the table again.

“I’m glad I won’t have to suffer it alone, then,” Bard said.

Thranduil felt entirely grateful for Bard in moments like these. He, too, hated hanging out with the other parents when Legolas was invited to a birthday party or to another kid’s house; the small talk and the prying of information out of him was almost enough to make him want to move back to the city. For how much he looked like Thranduil, Legolas enjoyed making friends, even if he found it difficult, which meant Thranduil was at the mercy of the other mums and dads in town.

But he didn’t feel that way about Bard. It was entirely the opposite, in fact. He would take any excuse for them to spend more time together. He only wished he could figure out if Bard was flirting with him, or just being friendly. Thranduil wanted it to be flirting, but there was no sense in getting his hopes up about it in case it wasn’t. It probably wasn’t.

Their orders arrived and Thranduil was preoccupied with checking Legolas’ drink before letting him have it. Mithrellas had made sure not to steam the milk too hot. She was an insufferable snoop, but at least she remembered little things like that.

When he straightened in his chair, Bard was staring at him.

“What?”

Bard’s ears went red and he disappeared behind his coffee mug. “Nothing.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him, and Bard offered a challenging, teasing glare in return. Even when they weren’t talking, he was so comfortable to be around. Thranduil wondered if Bard knew how much he appreciated it. He wondered if he knew how much he meant to Thranduil, even after only a couple of weeks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight disclaimer; Audrey is not intended to be any kind of antagonist here. Her involvement in this story is actually relevant to the plot and will be expanded on in chapter 11/12 :) The plot overall starts to move on from here on out.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading and for all your support! Love u guys!  
> 

When Bard returned home from work on Friday afternoon, his ex-wife’s car was already there.

 _Damn that woman_ , he thought sourly as he swung off his bike and removed his helmet. She typically took the kids out for a couple of hours before dropping them off after school, but she was evidently ready to kick off her weekend. Never mind that Bard had a packed schedule on Fridays, or that he hadn’t been grocery shopping yet.

_A bit of warning next time!_

He stomped up the stairs to his house and opened the door, kicking his boots off in the hallway. He could hear the kids running around inside, the television playing after-school cartoons. Audrey was in the kitchen on her laptop, still in work mode even when she was starting her weekend early. Bard almost would have admired her for her diligence, if it wasn’t one of the many reasons they'd split up. She looked up briefly when he walked in, putting his helmet pointedly on the kitchen table next to her laptop.

“Your fridge is empty,” she said, returning her attention to the screen.

“Hello to you as well,” Bard replied.

Audrey closed her computer and slid it back into its sleeve. Her green eyes were level with Bard’s when she wore high heels, but they still didn’t meet. She was pretty today, he thought, but telling her so would get him a kick for sure. She had always been a little on the mean side, even when Bard was trying to be nice. He had once considered it endearing. 

“Sigrid has a school project she needs to finish by Monday, and Bain needs help with Math,” Audrey told him.

“I’m doing good, how about you?” Bard said instead, encouraging a friendlier conversation, albeit a little more sarcastically than was necessary. She really needed to learn how to switch off.

Audrey sighed and rubbed at a the corner of her eye with a perfectly manicured finger. “I don’t have time for this. I’m meeting the girls for drinks.”

She took her car keys from the counter and shoved past Bard, heading for the door. He bounded after her and slid in front, blocking the way out.

“You know, you can still talk to me,” he said, tilting his head in an attempt to meet her gaze.

Audrey made eye contact, just this once, but there was no kindness there. “Well, that’s a fucking first. Bye kids!”

She elbowed Bard in the ribs to make him move. She wrenched the door open, and slammed it closed behind her.

Bard stood alone in the hallway. He ran his fingers through his hair wearily and closed his eyes. There were no words to describe how shit their relationship had become since moving to the country. Bard had hoped Audrey’s temperament would soften with a change of scenery, but if anything, it had made her angrier and more miserable. He didn’t blame her for not talking to him, but there was no need to behave as if all this was his fault. Divorced they might be, but they had always promised each other to stay friends. She was beginning to make that a very difficult promise to keep.

Rubbing his side where Audrey had hit him and grumbling to himself about what she might be so upset about, Bard went back to the kitchen and opened the fridge. A wilting, half-eaten lettuce stared back at him from within, so he closed it again and grabbed a pizza menu from the fridge.

If there was any consolation for his hopeless relationship with his ex-wife, then at least that consolation was Thranduil. Bard’s heart lightened the next day when he saw the familiar old station wagon parked out the front of Arathorn’s house with dozens of other cars. He sidled his own car in front of it and shepherded his kids out onto the street. Tilda hesitated, so Bard carried her on his hip.

“Whose birthday party is this?” she asked quietly while her brother and sister went on ahead.

“Aragorn’s,” said Bard. “You were excited to see him a moment ago.”

Tilda buried her head in his shoulder, her little curls tickling his face. “Will there be cake?”

Bard laughed and told her there would be, and he’d see to it personally that she got some.

The front door was open, decorated with balloons and streamers. Bard let himself in to utter chaos.

It was like going to day-care, except all the kids were in his best friend’s house, and Bard had to stay and experience the madness for himself. Sigrid and Bain had already disappeared, bold and cheeky as they were. Bard put Tilda down, but she clung tight to his jeans, as she often did when he dropped her off at the actual day-care during the week. If she saw Legolas, there was a chance she would branch off, but until that time Bard’s leg was her best friend.

Arathorn poked his head around from the kitchen to see who had arrived, and looked relieved when he realised it was Bard.

“Help me,” he pleaded.

“What’s wrong?” Bard asked, stepping into the kitchen cautiously, Tilda padding along behind.

Arathorn was cooking, which was not generally recommended. Thranduil was also in the kitchen, but Bard could tell at once that he was only there to drink and avoid the other parents. Arathorn had managed to put him on oven duty, but he didn’t seem to be taking it too seriously. He smiled when Bard entered, waving at him with a pair of tongs.

Bard sat Tilda up on the counter and they took over dusting biscuits with sugar while Arathorn moved on to cut fruit. Thranduil walked over from the oven and set a beer down next to Bard.

“You’ve saved the day,” he murmured, so Arathorn couldn’t hear.

“It’s usually the way it goes,” Bard said, stealing a glance at his friend. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Outside. I tried it for five minutes, but it didn’t take. They immediately asked me about you,” Thranduil said with a roll of his eyes.

Bard paused, not entirely following. “About me?”

“I think everyone’s under the impression that we’re…” Thranduil trailed off, his eyes flicking to the backyard window.

Tilda was getting sugar everywhere, so Bard hastily took the shaker off her, his thoughts scrambling for some kind of footing as the silence between him and Thranduil grew.

“What?” he prompted.

Thranduil looked back at him, biting his lip in a crooked, half-smile. “Dating.”

Bard’s heart stilled. He couldn’t decide if Thranduil’s tone was disapproving or… something else. He didn’t seem offended by the idea, but neither did he seem pleased. Either way, Bard had to dive for it.

“Is that such a bad thing?” he said, finishing with the sugar and putting Tilda on the floor again. Thankfully, she saw someone she recognised and darted off.

Thranduil took way too long to reply. He stared at Bard, eyes wandering, bright against the pale kitchen tiles. He had his hair down today, with one side tucked behind his ear, framing his face in a way that always seemed to stall Bard's breath if he looked for too long.

“N-no,” Thranduil said at last. “But I don’t know where they got that assumption.”

Bard’s heart sank so fast it gave him whiplash.

“Yeah,” he managed to say in response, but he didn’t feel it.

The door opened again, and both Bard and Thranduil turned to see who the latest arrival was. Celebrían came through with her daughter in tow, carrying what Bard thought was an excessively large present. Behind her, a tall man with dark hair Bard had never seen before drifted through, looking as lost as Bard felt in that moment, but probably for an entirely different reason.

The distraction of the newcomers only lasted for a second. Bard then noticed Thranduil’s knuckles go white on the kitchen counter, and he quickly turned his back to the couple as they moved to greet people through the sliding doors outside.

Thranduil’s expression gave very little away as usual, but Bard thought he saw a touch of fear, and confusion. Thranduil glanced at him briefly, but did not see, the brightness in his eyes gone. He peered around the kitchen entrance to look at the children playing in the sitting room, as if searching for something. Bard put a gentle hand on his arm, and was alarmed to feel that he was shaking.

“Are you okay?”

Thranduil drew back instinctively.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Go? What do you mean?”

Thranduil linked his hands behind his neck. His trembling was visible now, and he couldn’t focus on anything.

Bard took Thranduil’s wrist in his hand again, gently bringing his hands down. Their eyes met, and Thranduil exhaled nervously.

“I can look after Legolas if you need to leave,” Bard said. “I’ll drop him home when the party is over.”

Thranduil did not answer at once, but the way he looked at Bard was jarring. Like they were meeting for the first time again.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

He grabbed his coat from the hooks at the door and was gone.

Bard could only guess the reason Thranduil had to leave in such a hurry. Either he had remembered something urgent, or it had to do with the man who had just walked through the door. In any case, Bard felt a little sorry for himself. He had been looking forward to suffering the party with Thranduil, but now he had to do it without him.

“Who’s that with Celebrían?” he asked Arathorn.

Arathorn looked out the kitchen window in front of him, craning his neck to see over the other parents sitting on the deck outside.

“You don't know Elrond? That makes sense, I guess. I didn't expect him to be here, to be honest.” Arathorn put his knife down and wiped his hands on a tea towel, as if that settled the matter.

He left Bard alone in the kitchen and went outside. Bard spied him through the window, watching him wrap Celebrían’s husband in a bear hug. Elrond seemed a little out of place among the other parents; he was nicely dressed, and clearly not a regular at the parties and gatherings. It seemed quite a few people did not know who he was, as Arathorn made it his business to introduce to him to a few of the guests. Bard wondered what he did for work if he so rarely attended these events, and why he had never seen him until now.

More than anything, he wondered why Thranduil had practically run away at the sight of him.

Bard looked down at the beer Thranduil had left for him on the counter. His own cup of wine sat unfinished beside it. Bard traced a finger absently around the rim, thinking of the mouth that had just been there.

He grabbed his beer and went outside.

Thranduil was soon pushed out of Bard's mind when it became evident that he was now trapped into talking about himself at last. The other parents had him cornered, and they wanted to know everything. Why did he move here? Did he like his job? What made him choose to be a tattoo artist? Why wasn’t his wife here? _Oh, sorry, your ex-wife, how could we forget._ Is he enjoying his welcome baskets? Is there anything they can do to help out while his kids are here?

Bard knocked back his beer and gave one-word answers where he could. Arathorn, the traitor, had left him unaided and was chatting to Elrond inside the house now. Gilraen was with Bard, but doing nothing to support him. In fact, he had a feeling she was secretly enjoying the interrogation.

It reminded him of just how alone he was in this town. Most of the other parents were all older, which meant they had different experiences to him; normal experiences. Bard imagined they had wasted their early twenties drinking and dating and trying different jobs, just as his old city friends had done after high school. But from seventeen, Bard had only ever been a father; his life started and ended with his kids. He didn’t know how to be anything else.

It was ostracising, in its way, to be a young parent. Bard had lost his school friends to their own, child-free endeavours after Sigrid was born, and when she was old enough to go day-care, he struggled to relate to other mums and dads, some of them nearly ten years his senior and still on their first – and often only – child.

He was glad he had met Thranduil. Bard had not expected much to come of his move to the country; freedom to work on his art, perhaps, and more time to spend with Arathorn. He never would have imagined meeting someone as amazing as Thranduil.

But he had left, and Bard had to endure the other parents by himself once again.

**[Bard]**   
_hope youre ok. this party sucks_

  
Bard hid in the bathroom, perched on the edge of the bathtub, and waited a few minutes for a reply from Thranduil. None came.

When he emerged, the children were eating cake; all of them quiet for the first time that day. Bard spotted Legolas next to Tilda. He was the spitting image of Thranduil. Except for his eyes; he had soft, brown eyes.

Bard went over and crouched down next to him at the little table.

“Hey, kiddo. Your dad had to leave early, so you just let me know when you want to go home, alright?”

Legolas frowned, looking around at the adults having coffee outside, only just now realising his father wasn’t among them. “Why did he leave?”

“I think something went wrong at the shop,” Bard lied.

“Probably Uncle Hal broke something,” Legolas agreed sagely.

Bard chuckled. “That’s most likely, yeah.”

“Can I go home now, then?”

Bard blinked in surprise. “Now? I think there will be party games after cake.”

Legolas considered this for a moment, looking around at the other children. Bard thought he was unusually intuitive for a four-year-old; his eyes were bright and sympathetic, and he was mindful of others. Bard wondered how he felt to have only one parent, when all his friends had two. He didn’t seem to understand that it was strange. Not yet, anyway.

“I’d like to go now, please,” he said at last.

Bard shrugged and stood up. He went to find Arathorn and update him.

“That’s cool,” he said. “Wait, did Thranduil leave? I didn’t even notice.”

 _Sounds about right_ , Bard thought to himself. His best friend was many things, but observant definitely wasn’t one of them. Perhaps that’s why Thranduil had even been there in the first place. 

“If any of mine ask where I’ve gone, tell them I’ll be back soon.” Bard didn’t want to guarantee a time for him to return. He wanted to try and get a few words out of Thranduil first.

Legolas spoke very little during the car ride, tired as he was. He sat in the back seat, staring out the window. He replied to Bard’s questions, but otherwise made no effort to hold a conversation.

When they arrived at the flower shop, Haldir was outside bringing the flowers in as he closed for the day. He waved expressionlessly at Bard as he got out of the car with Legolas.

“He wanted to come home early,” Bard said, hoping it would be enough by way of an explanation.

Evidently it was. Haldir nodded, opening the door for Legolas to go in. “Yeah, he can get overwhelmed by people sometimes.”

“Is… is Thranduil inside?” Bard said.

Haldir scratched his nose awkwardly. “He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No. He doesn’t want to see anyone.”

Bard bit his lip. “Can I at least try?”

Haldir shrugged, picking up the last bucket of flowers from the pavement. “I won’t stop you, but this is none of your business.”

He went inside, but did not lock the door.

Bard hesitated, reflecting on Haldir’s words. He was right, of course, and it made Bard realise his intentions towards Thranduil in that moment were no better than that of the rest of the town. He was trying to pry, and it was not his place to do so.

However, Bard took a breath and opened the door. None of this was any of his business, but Thranduil was his friend, and he wanted to make sure that he understood that.

Haldir glanced up from the till when Bard entered. He seemed intrigued that Bard had actually come in.

“He’s in the office,” he said.

Pushing back the heavy curtains, Bard passed the threshold to the darkened room behind the shop and saw a door slightly ajar to his right. He knocked gently and nudged it open.

Thranduil was sitting at a desk. The room was brightly lit and warm. A large window directly opposite the door let in the sunshine from a green and flowery garden.

Legolas was on the desk in front of Thranduil, chatting away happily, but when Bard entered, he paused, blinking curiously at him.

“Tell me about it later, okay?” Thranduil said to his son. “Can you go outside and clean up your toys for me?”

Offering Bard another brief glance, Legolas jumped down from the desk and went to another door, disappearing into the backyard.

Thranduil’s eyes were downcast, and slightly red.

“You okay?” Bard asked, leaning against the doorframe, not quite entering the office. Not quite crossing the threshold.

Thranduil swayed his chair carefully from side-to-side. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, at least you got to skip the party,” Bard quipped.

“It can’t have been that bad,” Thranduil said.

“It would have been better with you there.”

Thranduil did not smile, but the quirk of his mouth was enough to tell Bard he wanted to. Whatever he was going through, Bard thought it must be serious. It was hard to make Thranduil smile, definitely, but that wasn’t to say Bard wasn’t good at it.

“I should go,” he added, knocking back the silence drifting between them. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

Thranduil almost looked as though he wanted to take Bard up on that offer right there and then. He seemed lost and confused – and more vulnerable than Bard could have believed him to be – but there was still that resolute defiance in him that was determined with stand without help.

“Thanks,” was all he said.

Bard gave him a thumbs-up, unsure of what else he could possibly give to that moment. He lingered for a last look at Thranduil, wishing there was more he could do, and then left to return to the party.


End file.
